Fleetly o'er the moonlight snows

  Speed we to my lady's bower;

Swift our sledge as lightning goes,

  Nor shall stop till morning's hour.

Bright, my steed, the northern star

  Lights us from yon jewelled skies;

But to greet us, brighter far,

  Morn shall bring my lady's eyes.

Lovers, lulled in sunny bowers,

  Sleeping out their dream of time,

Know not half the bliss that's ours,

  In this snowy, icy clime.

Like yon star that livelier gleams

  From the frosty heavens around,

Love himself the keener beams

  When with snows of coyness crowned.

Fleet then on, my merry steed,

  Bound, my sledge, o'er hill and dale;—

What can match a lover's speed?

  See, 'tis daylight, breaking pale!

Brightly hath the northern star

  Lit us from yon radiant Skies;

But, behold, how brighter far

  Yonder shine my lady's eyes!