The anchor weigh'd, the swelling sails were spread,
And England's parting shores fled fast from view,
When Elinor, the Convict, rais'd her head,
And breath'd her soul into a last adieu.
" Ye white cliffs of Albion, that fade on the skies,
How fair do ye seem to the outcast's dim eyes,
The sinful one, banish'd for ever!
The sands too, beneath you, look goldenly bright,
And precious seems each little grain to her sight,
Whose steps shall revisit them never!
" Ah! dear native country, though destin'd to part,
Still long your pure scenes of delight in my heart,
Yea! long will poor Elinor cherish;
Your remembrance shall make her day's bondage more light,
In dreams shall restore her to freedom at night,
And only with life itself perish.
" Yes! lov'd land of freedom! the poor toiling slave,
Though sunder'd afar by the measureless wave,
Shall feel with your children connected!
And boast of her birth, as in days of fair fame,
Ere yet, for its sinfulness, Elinor's name
From the lists of the good was rejected.
" The land sinks apace, and the day-light decays,
Ah! how blest will be they, whom yon setting sun's rays
Shall smile on in England to-morrow!
But, alas! for the convict! light will not restore
To her longing eyes her belov'd native shore,
She from fancy her England must borrow.
" Now faster and faster the flying coasts fade,
Each instant fresh objects dissolve into shade —
Gaze! — Gaze! — O ye eyes that are banish'd.
The town, with its buildings, the ships in the bay,
The steeple, the light-house, — all, all melt away, —
And now the last headland has vanish'd!
Strain, strain, balls of sight, your faint faculties strain,
And something of England still strive to retain!
No — tears gush and drown the endeavour!
Nay, throb not so wildly, thou poor, breaking heart —
Home! kindred! and friends! soul and body now part,
Farewell native country for ever!
And England's parting shores fled fast from view,
When Elinor, the Convict, rais'd her head,
And breath'd her soul into a last adieu.
" Ye white cliffs of Albion, that fade on the skies,
How fair do ye seem to the outcast's dim eyes,
The sinful one, banish'd for ever!
The sands too, beneath you, look goldenly bright,
And precious seems each little grain to her sight,
Whose steps shall revisit them never!
" Ah! dear native country, though destin'd to part,
Still long your pure scenes of delight in my heart,
Yea! long will poor Elinor cherish;
Your remembrance shall make her day's bondage more light,
In dreams shall restore her to freedom at night,
And only with life itself perish.
" Yes! lov'd land of freedom! the poor toiling slave,
Though sunder'd afar by the measureless wave,
Shall feel with your children connected!
And boast of her birth, as in days of fair fame,
Ere yet, for its sinfulness, Elinor's name
From the lists of the good was rejected.
" The land sinks apace, and the day-light decays,
Ah! how blest will be they, whom yon setting sun's rays
Shall smile on in England to-morrow!
But, alas! for the convict! light will not restore
To her longing eyes her belov'd native shore,
She from fancy her England must borrow.
" Now faster and faster the flying coasts fade,
Each instant fresh objects dissolve into shade —
Gaze! — Gaze! — O ye eyes that are banish'd.
The town, with its buildings, the ships in the bay,
The steeple, the light-house, — all, all melt away, —
And now the last headland has vanish'd!
Strain, strain, balls of sight, your faint faculties strain,
And something of England still strive to retain!
No — tears gush and drown the endeavour!
Nay, throb not so wildly, thou poor, breaking heart —
Home! kindred! and friends! soul and body now part,
Farewell native country for ever!