Song

Fierce roars the midnight storm

O'er the wild mountain,

Dark clouds the night deform,

Swift rolls the fountain--

See! o'er yon rocky height,

Dim mists are flying--

See by the moon's pale light,

Poor Laura's dying!

Shame and remorse shall howl,

By her false pillow--

Fiercer than storms that roll,

O'er the white billow;

No hand her eyes to close,

When life is flying,

But she will find repose,

For Laura's dying!

Then will I seek my love,

Then will I cheer her,

Then my esteem will prove,

When no friend is near her.

On her grave I will lie,

When life is parted,

On her grave I will die,

For the false hearted.