And as on golden sands the ripples break,
In sweet enchanting tones it seems to murmur,
Wake, now, my dearest Dinah, wake!
Chorus.—Wake! Dinah, wake, &c.
Wake! Dinah, wake! and open thy lattice,
My heart, love, can brook no delay,
How dearly I love to thy sweet voice to listen,
More sweet than the lark’s morning lay.
Then come, dearest, come, for each throb of my heart
Speaks in language which love can not mistake,