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varied shapes, when death appears,
The thoughts of thee my bosom cheers;
The troubled main,
The wind and rain,
My ardent passion prove;
Lash’d to the helm,
Shou’d seas o’erwhelm,
I’d think on thee, my love.
The thoughts of thee my bosom cheers;
The troubled main,
The wind and rain,
My ardent passion prove;
Lash’d to the helm,
Shou’d seas o’erwhelm,
I’d think on thee, my love.
But should the gracious pow’rs be kind,
Dispel the gloom, and still; the wind,
And waft me to thy arms once more,
Unto my long-lost native shore;
No more the main
I'd tempt again,
But tender joys improve;
I then with thee
Shou’d happy be,
And think on nought but love.
Dispel the gloom, and still; the wind,
And waft me to thy arms once more,
Unto my long-lost native shore;
No more the main
I'd tempt again,
But tender joys improve;
I then with thee
Shou’d happy be,
And think on nought but love.
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MISS FORBES’ FAREWEL.
Farewel ye fields an’ meadows green,
The blest retreat of peace and love!
Have I, silent, stol'n from hence,
With my young swain a while to rove:
The blest retreat of peace and love!
Have I, silent, stol'n from hence,
With my young swain a while to rove:
