Song

Fierce roars the midnight storm O'er the wild mountain, Dark clouds the night deform, Swift rolls the fountain--

See! o'er yon rocky height, Dim mists are flying-- See by the moon's pale light, Poor Laura's dying!

Shame and remorse shall howl, By her false pillow-- Fiercer than storms that roll, O'er the white billow;

No hand her eyes to close, When life is flying, But she will find repose, For Laura's dying!

Then will I seek my love, Then will I cheer her, Then my esteem will prove, When no friend is near her.

On her grave I will lie, When life is parted, On her grave I will die, For the false hearted.