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He may sigh to the winds,
By the great mount Diana,
With his eyes o’er the waves
That surrounds St. Helena.
Now Lousiana weeps
For her husband departed;
She dreams while she sleeps,
And she wakes broken-hearted:
Not a friend to condole,
Even those that might, they winna;
Now she mourns while she thinks
On the Isle St. Helena.
The rude rushing waves
A’ our shores round are washing,
And the great billows heaves
A’ the wild rocks a-dashing;
He may look upon the mon,
And think on Lousiana,
With his heart full of woe,
On the Isle St. Helena.
Now you that have great wealth,
Be aware of ambition;
For some decree of fate
Soon may change your condition;
