Norwegian dust to bite.
Bright beams that night the pale moon flung--
The vessel gently roll'd--
A mermaid from the ocean sprung
And Sinclair's fate foretold.
'Turn back, turn back, thou Scottish chief!
Hold'st thou thy life so cheap?
Turn back, or give my words belief,
Thou'lt ne'er repass this deep!'
'Light is thy song, malicious elf!