Now is no one awake but the highest and the lowest in the town,--the watchman on the top of the cathedral tower, and I deep down in the bowels of the earth. If I were the watchman I would be singing to a certainty, so I don't see why I should not wake the echoes down here. She won't hear either of us, so here goes.
When at the lonely midnight hour
I pace my rounds upon the tower,
I muse upon my love afar,
Whose troth is fixed as morning star.
When to the flag at honour's call
I flew, her kiss was worth it all;
She decked my hat with ribbands blue,
Then pressed me to her heart anew.
And still her love's as warm as then,