As slow our ship her foamy track

  Against the wind was cleaving,

Her trembling pennant still looked back

  To that dear isle 'twas leaving.

So loathe we part from all we love.

  From all the links that bind us;

So turn our hearts as on we rove,

  To those we've left behind us.

When, round the bowl, of vanished years

  We talk, with joyous seeming,—

With smiles that might as well be tears,

  So faint, so sad their beaming;

While memory brings us back again

  Each early tie that twined us,

Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then

  To those we've left behind us.

And when, in other climes, we meet

  Some isle, or vale enchanting,

Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet,

  And naught but love is wanting;

We think how great had been our bliss,

  If heaven had but assigned us

To live and die in scenes like this,

  With some we've left behind us!

As travellers oft look back at eve,

  When eastward darkly going,

To gaze upon that light they leave

  Still faint behind them glowing,—

So, when the close of pleasure's day

  To gloom hath near consigned us,

We turn to catch one fading ray

  Of joy that's left behind us.