Lovely maiden, art thou sleeping?
Wake, and fly with me, my love,
While the moon is proudly sweeping,
Through the ether fields above;
While her mellow'd light is streaming
Full on mountain, moon, and lake.
Dearest maiden, art thou dreaming?
'Tis thy true-love calls awake.
All is hush'd around thy dwelling,
Even the watch-dog 's lull'd asleep;
Hark! the clock the hour is knelling,
Wilt thou then thy promise keep?
Yes, I hear her softly coming,
Now her window 's gently raised;
There she stands, an angel blooming,
Come, my Mary, haste thee, haste!
Fear not, love, thy rigid father
Soundly sleeps bedrench'd with wine;
'Tis thy true-love holds the ladder,
To his care thyself resign!
Now my arms enfold a treasure,
Which for worlds I 'd not forego;
Now our bosoms feel that pleasure,
Faithful bosoms only know.
Long have our true-loves been thwarted,
By the stern decrees of pride,
Which would doom us to be parted,
And make thee another's bride;
But behold, my steeds are ready,
Soon they 'll post us far away;
Thou wilt be Glen Alva's lady,
Long before the dawn of day.