From the Spanish.
Up I rose, O mother, early
On the blest Saint Juan's morn;
By the sea I saw a damsel,
Saw a damsel all forlorn.
Lonely there she wash'd her garments
And upon a rose-tree hung;
Whilst the garments there were drying
She a plaintiff ditty sung.
"O my love, my fickle lover--
Where to find him shall I stray?"
Up and down the strand she hurried
Singing, singing this sad lay.
In her hand a comb she carried,
All of gold, to comb her hair;
"Tell me, tell me, gentle sailor--
Heaven take thee 'neath it's care--
Hast thou seen my fickle lover,
Hast thou seen him any where?"