Their trampling sounded nearer.
"Oh, haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,
"Though tempests round us gather;
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father."
The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her,
When, oh! too strong for human hand
The tempest gathered o'er her.
And still they rowed amidst the roar