Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Adieu, my Native Land, Adieu!

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Adieu, My Native Land, Adieu!
Adieu, my native land, adieu!
 The vessel spreads her swelling sails,
Perhaps I never more may view
 Your fertile fields, your flowery dales;
Delusive hope can charm no more,
 Far from the faithless maid I roam,
Unfriended seek some foreign shore,
 Unpitied leave my peaceful home!
        Adieu, my native land, &c.

Farewell, dear village, oh! farewell,
 Soft on the gale thy murmur dies,
I hear thy solemn evening bell,
 Thy spires yet glad my aching eyes;
Though frequent falls the dazzling tear,
 I scorn to shrink at fate's degree,
And think not, cruel maid, that e'er
 I'll breathe another sigh for thee.
        Adieu, my native land, &c.

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In vain, through shades of frowning night,
 Mine eyes thy rocky coast explore,
Deep sinks the fiery orb of light,
 I view thy beacons now no more.
Rise, billows, rise I blow, hollow wind!
 (Nor night, nor storms, nor death, I fear),
Be friendly, bear me hence to find
 That peace which fate denies me here.
        Adieu, my native land, &c.

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