Soft o'er the fountain, lingering falls the southern moon;
Far o'er the mountain, breaks the day too soon;
In the dark eyes' splendor, where the warm light loves to dwell,
Weary looks, yet tender, speak their fond farewell.
Nita, Juanita, ask thy soul if we should part;
Nita, Juanita, lean thou on my heart.
When, in thy dreaming, moons like these shall shine again,
And daylight beaming, prove thy dreams are vain,
Wilt thon not relenting for thine absent lover sigh,
In my heart consenting to a prayer gone by.-Chorus.