Her eyes were red with weeping,
Her lover was no more,
Beneath the billows sleeping,
Near Ireland's rocky shore;
She oft pray'd for her Willy,
But it was all in vain,
And pale as any lily
Grew lovely Jess M'Lean.
She sat beside some willows
That overhung the sea,
And as she view'd the billows,
She moan'd most piteously;
The storm in all its rigour
Swept the bosom of the main,
And shook the sylph-like figure
Of lovely Jess M'Lean.
Her auburn hair was waving
In ringlets on the gale,
And the tempest join'd its raving,
To the hapless maiden's wail;
Wild was the storm's commotion,
Yet careless of the scene,
Like the spirit of the ocean
Sat lovely Jess M'Lean.
She look'd upon her bosom
Where Willy's picture hung,
'Twas like a rosy blossom
On a bed of lilies flung;
She kiss'd the red cheeks over,
And look'd, and kiss'd again;
Then told the winds her lover
Was true to Jess M'Lean.
But a blast like bursting thunder
Bent down each willow tree,
Snapp'd the picture clasp asunder,
And flung it in the sea;
She started from the willows
The image to regain,
And low beneath the billows
Lies lovely Jess M'Lean.
Her bones are changed to coral
Of the purest virgin white,
Her teeth are finest pearl,
And her eyes are diamonds bright;
The breeze oft sweeps the willows
In a sad and mournful strain,
And moaning o'er the billows
Sings the dirge of Jess M'Lean.
[38] Printed for the first time.