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!”