Fare-thee-well, love, now thou art going
Over the wild and trackless sea;
Smooth be its waves, and fair the wind blowing-
Tho' 'tis to bear thee far from me.
But when on the waste of Ocean,
Some happy home-bound bark you see,
Swear by the truth of thy heart's devotion,
To send a letter back to me.
Think of the shore thou'st left behind thee,
Even when reaching a brighter strand;
Let not the golden glories blind thee
Of that gorgeous Indian land;
Send me not its diamond treasures,
Nor pearls from the depth of its sunny sea,
But tell me of all thy woes and pleasures,
In a long letter back to me.
And while dwelling in lands of pleasure,
Think, as you bask in their bright sunshine,
That while the ling'ring time I measure,
Sad and wintry hours are mine;
Lonely by my taper weeping
And watching, the spark of promise to see-
All for that bright spark, my night-watch keeping,
For oh! '
tis
a letter, love, from thee!
To say that soon thy sail will be flowing
Homeward to bear thee over the sea:
Calm be the waves and swift the wind blowing,
For oh! thou
art
coming back to me!