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 seafowl 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!”