Since the soaring falcon never 
'neath the sea can swim,
can I change my nature ever
for a girl's least whim?
Tho' she call me to her,
yet can I ne'er woo her,
while she mocks constancy,
and for each new fancy
swears her heart beats truer.

So our days are swiftly lapsing,
soon this life must cease;
death, our lanterns soon eclipsing,
in the grave gives peace.
We shall say Amen,
in the cold, dark clay,
there our poor worn bones
'neath the great grave stones
rest till Judgement Day.