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!”