This shall be thy lullaby,
Rocking on the stormy sea;
Though it roar in thunder wild,
Sleep, stilly sleep, thou bright-haired child.

When our shuddering boat was crossing
Eldern's lake so rudely tossing,
Then 'twas first my nursling smiled;
Sleep, softly sleep, my fair-browed child.

Waves above thy cradle break,
Foamy tears are on thy cheek,
Yet the ocean's self grows mild
When it bears my slumbering child.

May 1838.