XII. The sails were fill'd, and fair the light winds blew, As glad to waft him from his native home; The silent thought, nor from his lips did come XIII. But when the sun was sinking in the sea He seized his harp, which he at times could string, And strike, albeit with untaught melody, When deem'd he no strange ear was listening: And now his fingers o'er it he did fling,' Thus to the elements he pour'd his last "Good Night" 66 ADIEU, adieu! 1. my native shore Fades o'er the waters blue; The Night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, And shrieks the wild seamew. Yon Sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight; Farewell awhile to him and thee, 2. "A few short hours and He will rise Deserted is my own good hall, Its hearth is desolate; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; My dog howls at the gate. 3. "Come hither, hither, my little page! But dash the tear-drop from thine eye; 4. 'Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, I fear not wave nor wind; Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I Am sorrowful in mind; For I have from my father gone, A mother whom I love, And have no friend, save these alone, 5. 'My father bless'd me fervently, 6. "Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman, Why dost thou look so pale? Or dost thou dread a French foeman? Or shiver at the gale?"— 'Deem'st thou I tremble for my life? Sir Childe, I'm not so weak; But thinking on an absent wife Will blanch a faithful cheek. 7. 'My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, Along the bordering lake, And when they on their father call, 8. "For who would trust the seeming sighs Of wife or paramour? Fresh feeres will dry the bright blue eyes We late saw streaming o'er. For pleasures past I do not grieve, Nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave No thing that claims a tear. |