Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Adieu, my Native Land, Adieu!

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Adieu, My Native Land, Adieu!
Adieu, my native land, adieu! The vessel spreads her swelling sails,Perhaps I never more may view Your fertile fields, your flowery dales;Delusive hope can charm no more, Far from the faithless maid I roam,Unfriended seek some foreign shore, Unpitied leave my peaceful home!        Adieu, my native land, &c.
Farewell, dear village, oh! farewell, Soft on the gale thy murmur dies,I hear thy solemn evening bell, Thy spires yet glad my aching eyes;Though frequent falls the dazzling tear, I scorn to shrink at fate's degree,And think not, cruel maid, that e'er I'll breathe another sigh for thee.        Adieu, my native land, &c.
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In vain, through shades of frowning night, Mine eyes thy rocky coast explore,Deep sinks the fiery orb of light, I view thy beacons now no more.Rise, billows, rise I blow, hollow wind! (Nor night, nor storms, nor death, I fear),Be friendly, bear me hence to find That peace which fate denies me here.        Adieu, my native land, &c.

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