O, FRESH blows the gale o'er the wide mantling ocean,
And proudly the frigate repels the white foam;
And high beats my heart with tumultuous emotion,
On leaving, for fortune, my dear native home.
Perhaps, for the last time, my father has blest me,
I see his white locks and the tears on his cheek:
And my mother--how close to her bosom she press'd me!
And kiss'd me, and sobb'd, as her kind heart would break.
I may roam thro' the wide world, and friendship may court me,
And love on my heart its soft characters trace,
But ne'er shall affection lend aught to support me
So sacred--so pure as that parting embrace.
Friends and protectors! when dangers surround me,
When pleasure, when wealth spread their lures for my fame,
That moment's good angel shall hover around me,
To chase every thought would dishonour your name.