Then, gazing on each other, They stood abashed and still; All save Saint John the Baptist, And Peter of the Hill. “We’ll die for thee, O Jesus, Upon to-morrow’s morn.” For him died John the Baptist, And suffered pain and scorn. 2. There stands a stone, a rounded stone, ’Midst ocean’s surges hoary, On which sweet Jesus set his foot When mounting to his glory. There grows a rose, a blooming rose, ’Midst ocean’s briny waters, That o’er may pass, to hear the mass, Havanah’s dusky daughters. * * * * * LONDON: Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W. _Edition limited to Thirty Copies_. Footnotes: {22} An earlier, and utterly different, version of this ballad was printed in _Romantic Ballads_, 1826, pp. 37–39. Borrow afterwards described this earlier version as “a paraphrase.”