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behold the hour, the boat arrive
behold the hour, the boat arrive;
thou goest, the darling of my heart;
sever'd from thee, can i survive,
but fate has will'd and we must part.
i'll often greet the surging swell,
yon distant isle will often hail:
“e'en here i took the last farewell;
there, latest mark'd her vanish'd sail.”
along the solitary shore,
while flitting sea-fowl round me cry,
across the rolling, dashing roar,
i'll westward turn my wistful eye:
“happy thou indian grove,” i'll say,
“where now my nancy's path may be!
while thro' thy sweets she loves to stray,
o tell me, does she muse on me!”