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A FAREWELL.

1800.

Once more, enchanting maid, adieu !
I must be gone while yet I may.

. Oft shall I weep to think of you ; But here I will not, cannot stay.

,

The sweet expression of that face,
For ever changing, yet the same,

I dare not turn to trace.
It melts my soul, it fires my frame!

Ah no,

Yet give me, give me, ere I go,
One little lock of those so blest,
That lend your cheek a warmer glow,
And on your white neck love to rest.

-Say, when, to kindle soft delight,
That hand has chanced with mine to meet,
How could its thrilling touch excite
A sigh so short, and yet so sweet?

O say—but no, it must not be.
Adieu! A long, a long adieu!
-Yet still, methinks, you frown on me;
Or never could I fly from you.

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The Sailor sighs as sinks his native shore,
As all its lessening turrets bluely fade;
He climbs the mast to feast his eye once more,
And busy fancy fondly lends her aid.
Ah! now, each dear, domestic scene he knew,
Recalled and cherished in a foreign clime,
Charms with the magic of a moonlight-view;
Its colours mellowed, not impaired, by time.

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