H E'S lifeless amang the rude billows,
My tears and my sighs are in vain;
The heart that beat warm for his Jeanie,
Will ne'er beat for mortal again!
My lane now I am i' the warld,
And the daylight is grievous to me;
The laddie that lo'ed me sae dearly,
Lies cauld in the deeps o' the sea!

Ye tempests sae boist'rously raging,
Rage on as ye list — or be still —
This heart ye sae aften hae sicken'd,
Is nae mair the sport o' yere will.
Now heartless, I hope not — I fear not —
High Heaven, hae pity on me!
My soul, tho' dismay'd and distracted,
Yet bends to thy awful decree!