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!”