Thomas Moore (1779–1852)

                    COME o’er the sea,

                    Maiden with me,

                Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows;

                    Seasons may roll,

                    But the true soul

                Burns the same, where’er it goes.

          Let fate frown on, so we love and part not;

          ’Tis life where thou art, ’tis death were thou are not.

                    Then come o’er the sea,

                    Maiden with me,

                Come wherever the wild wind blows;

                    Seasons may roll,

                    But the true soul

                Burns the same, where’er it goes.

                    Was not the sea

                    Made for the Free,

                Land for courts and chains alone?

                    Here we are slaves,

                    But, on the waves,

                Love and Liberty’s all our own.

          No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us

          All earth forgot, and all heaven around us —

                    Then come o’er the sea,

                    Maiden, with me,

                Mine through sunshine, storms, and snows

                    Seasons may roll,

                    But the true soul

                Burns the same, where’er it goes.