I'd be a butterfly; living a rover, Dying when fair things are fading away.
Oh! where do fairies hide their heads, When snow lies on the hills, When frost has spoiled their mossy beds, And crystallized their rills?
Why don't the men propose, Mamma? Why don't the men propose?
Fear not, but trust in Providence, Wherever thou may'st be.
Oh, pilot! 'tis a fearful night, There's danger on the deep.
Friends depart, and memory takes them To her caverns, pure and deep.