Poor Zeila on wide water gaze,
Where white man tear her love away;
In vain she to poor Oran prays;
In vain she call the ship to stay.

Back to her hut can Zeila go?
From Oran dear how can she sleep?
When Zeila breast swell big wid woe,
When Zeila eye do nought but weep.

Rise, Sun of Morn! but give no light
To cruel man who him enslave!
Poor Oran pine, far, far from sight,
Or now lie dead below cold wave.

But if him live, him see no more
The big tear drop from Zeila' eye;
Then where white man poor Oran tore,
I'll sit me down, and soon will die.