The moon had climb'd the highest hill
  Which rises o'er the source of Dee,
And from the eastern summit shed
  Her silver light on tow'r and tree;
When Mary laid her down to sleep,
  Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea;
When soft and low a voice was heard,
  Say "Mary, weep no more for me."

She from her pillow gently rais'd
  Her head, to ask who there might be;
She saw young Sandy shiv'ring stand,
  With visage pale and hollow eye;
"O Mary dear, cold is my clay,
  It lies beneath a stormy sea;
Far, far from thee, I sleep in death;
  So, Mary, weep no more for me."

 ... 

"O maiden dear, thyself prepare,
  We soon shall meet upon that shore,
Where love is free from doubt and care,
  And thou and I shall part no more."
Loud crow'd the cock, the shadow fled,
  No more of Sandy could she see;
But soft the passing spirit said,
  "Sweet Mary, weep no more for me."