Fair shines the moon tonight, 
And from her lattice height, 
Leans many a Lady bright, 
While lutes are tinkling.
Come, and we'll softly glide 
Over the silv'ry tide,
While o'er us, far and wide,
Pale stars are twinkling.
Steer, boatman, lightly,
Steer the bark rightly,
Where the lamps brightly,
Outshine the day.

Ah! why should ever fade 
Music so sweetly played?
List to yon serenade, 
How soft its numbers!
Who would not rather be 
Wak'd by such melody
Than drag out wearily
Nicht's leaden slumbers ?
Home, then, while hasting,
'Ere repose tasting!
On thine oar resting, 
Stay, boatman, stay!