Poems.
143
I'll think of the loved ones, the absent and good,
That long on the shrine of affection hath stood;
May the richest of blessings descend from above,
Enfolding them all in the mantle of love.
The ropes they are coiling, the proud swelling sail,
Is flapping impatiently in the fresh gale;
The pennant is streaming aloft in the air,
All ready the vessel's despatches to bear.
The ocean I love, and 'tis rapture to me,
To bound over the crest of the sparkling sea.
The music of waters, the low murmur nigh,
Falls sweet on my ear as the summer wind's sigh.
I go, and forever may happiness dwell,
Among thee, and with thee, and now fare thee well.
That long on the shrine of affection hath stood;
May the richest of blessings descend from above,
Enfolding them all in the mantle of love.
The ropes they are coiling, the proud swelling sail,
Is flapping impatiently in the fresh gale;
The pennant is streaming aloft in the air,
All ready the vessel's despatches to bear.
The ocean I love, and 'tis rapture to me,
To bound over the crest of the sparkling sea.
The music of waters, the low murmur nigh,
Falls sweet on my ear as the summer wind's sigh.
I go, and forever may happiness dwell,
Among thee, and with thee, and now fare thee well.
