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!"