"The moon had climbed the highest hill
That rises o'er the banks of Dee,
And from her farthest summit poured
Her silver light o'er tower and tree,—
When Mary laid her down to sleep,
Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea,
And soft and low a voice she heard,
Saying, 'Mary, weep no more for me.'
She from her pillow gently raised
Her head, to see who there might be;