Listen’d to keep, to sing, now translating the notes, Following you my brother.

Soothe! soothe! soothe! Close on its wave soothes the wave behind, And again another behind embracing and lapping, every one close, But my love soothes not me, not me.

Low hangs the moon, it rose late, It is lagging⁠—O I think it is heavy with love, with love.

O madly the sea pushes upon the land, With love, with love.

O night! do I not see my love fluttering out among the breakers? What is that little black thing I see there in the white?