XII.

The sails were fill'd, and fair the light winds blew,

As glad to waft him from his native home;
And fast the white rocks faded from his view,
And soon were lost in circumambient foam :
And then, it may be, of his wish to roam
Repented he, but in his bosom slept

The silent thought, nor from his lips did come
One word of wail, whilst others sate and wept,
And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept.

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,'
And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight.
While flew the vessel on her snowy wing,
And fleeting shores receded from his sight,

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,
My native Land-Good Night!

2.

"A few short hours and He will rise
To give the Morrow birth;
And I shall hail the main and skies,
But not my mother Earth.

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!
Why dost thou weep and wail?
Or dost thou dread the billows' rage,
Or tremble at the gale?

But dash the tear-drop from thine eye;
Our ship is swift and strong:
Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly
More merrily along."

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,
But thee-and one above.

5.

'My father bless'd me fervently,
Yet did not much complain;
But sorely will my mother sigh
Till I come back again.'—
"Enough, enough, my little lad!
Such tears become thine eye;
If I thy guileless bosom had
Mine own would not be dry.

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,
What answer shall she make?'—
"Enough, enough, my yeoman good,
Thy grief let none gainsay;
But I, who am of lighter mood,
Will laugh to flee away.

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.