The Maid of Isla Ludwig van Beethoven

O, Maid of Isla, from the cliff
That looks on troubled wave and sky
Dost thou not see yon little skiff
Contend with ocean gallantly?
Now beating 'gainst the breeze and surge
And steep'd her leeward deck in foam
Why does she war unequal urge? -
O, Isla's maid, she seeks her home

O, Isla's maid, yon sea-bird mark
Her white wing gleams through mist and spray
Against the storm-cloud, lowering dark
As to the rock she wheels away; -
Where clouds are dark and billows rave
Why to the shelter should she come
Of cliff, exposed to wind and wave? -
O, maid of Isla, 'tis her home

As breeze and tide to yonder skiff
Thou'rt adverse to the suit I bring
And cold as is yon wintry cliff
Where sea-birds close their wearied wing
Yet cold as rock, unkind as wave
Still, Isla's maid, to thee I come;
For in thy love, or in his grave
Must Allan Vourich find his home