Cease a while, ye winds to blow

Cease a while, ye winds to blow, Cease, a while, ye streams to flow, Hush'd be every ruder noise, Methinks, I hear my lover's voice.

There's the rock, the hill, the tree, Hark, a voice, methinks 'tis he; 'Tis not he, still night comes on, O where is my wanderer gone?

Thick, my doubts and fears arise, Loud for him, I raise my cries; Why has he so long delay'd? Where's my lovely Wand'rer stray'd?

Loud I call: I'll make him hear, 'Tis my voice, my love, my dear; The time is past, why this delay? My lovely Wand'rer's lost his way.