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The night was calm, the night was dark,
No star was in the sky,
The wind it waved the willow boughs,
The stream flowed quietly.
No star was in the sky,
The wind it waved the willow boughs,
The stream flowed quietly.
The night was calm, the air was still,
Sweet sung the nightingale,
The soul of Jonathan was sooth'd,
His heart began to fail.
Sweet sung the nightingale,
The soul of Jonathan was sooth'd,
His heart began to fail.
'Tis weary waiting here, he cried,
And now the hour is late,—
Methinks he will not come to night,
'Tis useless more to wait.
And now the hour is late,—
Methinks he will not come to night,
'Tis useless more to wait.
Have patience man! the ruffian said,
A little we may wait,
But longer shall his wife expect
Her husband at the gate.
A little we may wait,
But longer shall his wife expect
Her husband at the gate.
