 | 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.
266
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 | |