Thou hast gone from thy lover,
Thou lord of the sea!
The illusion is over,
That bound me to thee;
I cannot regret thee,
Though dearest thou wert,
Nor can I forget thee,
Thou lord of my heart!

I loved thee too deeply
To hate thee and live;
I am blind to the brightest
My country can give;
But I cannot behold thee
In plunder and gore,
And thy M INNA can fold thee
In fondness no more.

Far over the billow
Thy black vessel rides;
The wave is thy pillow,
Thy pathway the tides;

I would follow the sun when the north winds arise,
And Autumn has taken its blue from the skies;
I would go, with the birds and the flowers in their train,
Like a sylph, o'er the wide-rolling waves of the main,
And seek on a warmer and lovelier shore
A home, till the dark storms of winter are o'er.

'Tis pleasant to stray in a tropical grove,
Where flowers, fruits, and foliage are blended above,
Where the sky, as it opens so vividly through,
Is pure as a spirit in mantle of blue,
Where the wind comes perfumed from the orange and lime,

Of home, name and wealth and ambition bereft —
We are children of fortune and luck:
They deny there's a shred of our characters left,
But they cannot deny us the pluck!
We are vagabond scamps, we are kings over all —
There is little on earth we desire —
We are devils who stand with our backs to the wall,
And who call on the cowards to fire!

There are some of us here who were noble and good,
And who learnt in ingratitude's schools —
They were born of the selfish and misunderstood,
They were soft, they were smoodgers or fools,

To you, my lord, a gold goblet of vintage wine,
And a carved lute of tortoiseshell in a jade casket
Feather-edged curtains of seven-colored hibiscus,
And a silken quilt embroidered with nine-flowered vines
Rosy cheeks will fade as the years roll on,
The chill moon circles round as the seasons pass.
If my lord would banish sorrow and brood no more,
Let him listen to my songs of the weary road,
Sung to the beat of the drum
You have seen the Cypress Beam and the Brazen Bird?
Where now is the pure music of those ancient flutes?

Well may you stand upon an hill on high,
In whom habituall goodnes we espie:
Lively you that expresse; who Clym so well,
Lustring forth graces, which in you excell.
In honour many stand, which not well gained,
Admits not long by them to be retained;
Many examples of it we might finde

Chronicles ancient bring unto our minde,
Eternizing, that honour is a blot,
Cursed to such men as deserve it not.
In you nathles, who honour well did clym ,
Lively pourtraying grace to after time,
Live and call others to like fate of thine.

Eagle of the far Northwest!
Thou, who bear'st the thunderer's bow,
Thou, who com'st with lightning crest,
And with eye of swarthy glow;
Thou, who lashest with thy wing,
Wild in rage, the foaming deep,
Till the warring billows spring,
And the upturned waters leap;
Thou, who send'st thy scream of wrath,
Like a nation's dying cry,
Sweeping on thy surging path,
Like the roar of tempest, by;
When thy scream is wild in ire,
When thy wing is swift as death,
At my bidding, quench thy fire!
At my bidding, hush thy breath!

I may walk until I'm fainting, I may write until I'm blinded,
I might drink until my back teeth are afloat;
But I can't forget my ruin and the happy days behind it,
When I wore a pink carnation in my coat.

O I thought that time could conquer, and I thought my heart would harden;
But it sends a sodden lump into my throat
When I think of what I have been, and the cottage and the garden,
When I wore a pink carnation in my coat.

God forgive you, girl, and bless you! let no line of mine distress you—
I am sorry for the bitter lines I wrote;

These weeping skies, these weeping skies,
They weep so much, that I weep too;
And every thing, like Mary's eyes,
Around, above, below, looks blue .
Such days as these will never do,
My Muse can never soar again;
Her wings are wetted through and through,
She tries to fly, but all in vain.

Love brought a wreath, a laurel wreath,
And it was steeped in fog, not dew;
The little urchin drooped beneath,
And gladly down his burden threw.
" The Sylphs have sent a wreath to you. "
He laughed as he his errand told.

Well, view you all the world and finde it Clay ,
Injoyed honours you see fleet away;
Losse is all riches, in your wise account,
Likewise there's nothing here doth losse surmount;
In earth finde what you will that had may be,
Alas, alas, 'tis brittle Clay you see;
Many great Monarchs, who have born great sway,

Cloathed now are with ignorance in Clay .
Ev'n this your honour seeing, doth provide
Climing on high, a surer State to bide;
In vertue so you fix so firme a stay,
Lasting estate you have will not away,

Two flowers were budding on one stem,
Imbued with fragrance, fresh with dew,
And bent with many a trickling gem,
That trembled as the west wind blew;
And softly shone their crimson through
That veil of crystal purity,
And as the thrush around them flew,
He clearer piped his melody.

Two fledglings, in a ring-dove's nest,
With tender bill, and feeble wing,
Sat brooding on their downy breast,