The Poetry of Robert Burns | ||
BEHOLD THE HOUR
I
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.
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Yon distant isle will often hail:—
‘E'en here I took the last farewell;
There, latest mark'd her vanish'd sail.’
II
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?’
The Poetry of Robert Burns | ||