And soft winds sigh, those notes I seem to hear:
Ev'n now, methought I heard the magic strain,
Oh! syren, sing that well-known song again!
[Nix, my Dolly, pals, fake away—
Ni-ix, my Dolly, pals, fake away.]
But, oh! a weight oppresses my sad soul;
My spirits sink beneath its dread control.
[Ease her!—Ease her!]
Thy boiling waves my daring footsteps spurn;
To earth again in grief I'm forced to turn.