30
Thou dost not hear the shrieking gust,
Nor breakers booming high.
Yet thou, didst thou but know thy fate,
Would’st melt, my tears to see;
And I, methinks, should weep the less,
Would’st thou but weep with me.
Yet, dear one, sleep, and sleep ye winds
That vex the restless brine—
When shall these eyes, my babe, be seal’d
As peacefully as thine!
