Oh! Hush you, my baby, the night is behind us,
        And black are the waters that sparkled so green.
The moon, o'er the combers, looks downward to find us
        At rest in the hollows that rustle between.
Where billow meets billow, there soft be your pillow;
        ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at the ease!
The storm shall not wake you, nor shark overtake you,
        Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas!