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We think of thee, we think of thee,—
Ay, sadly think of thy brief exile state;
Thou, thou art gone, thy place left desolate.
Oh! Africa, would that your golden shore,
Our lost, our radiant treasure might restore!
Bright one, farewell,—alas, farewell!
We'll think of thee, we'll think of thee;
Thou hast a shrine in every beauteous thought
And feeling deep within thy Pages wrought;
Thou hast a home in Friendship's fond regret;
Bright Star, on memory's sky thou ne'er shalt set!
Farewell, oh, sadly fare thee well!
THE END.
