The Sailor’s Song.

With steady ray the cold moonshine1
                        
                        Is slumbering on the shoreless brine ;2
                        
                        The pendant, curling in the breeze,3
                        
                        Sweeps onward thro’ the foamy seas.—4
                        
                        Where’er I roam,5
                        
                        Beloved girl !  my wandering mind6
                        
                        Reverts an eye to times behind,7
                        
                        And thee at home !8
                        When brooding tempests gather o’er9
                        
                        The heaving sea, without a shore ;10
                        
                        As night descends upon the deep,11
                        
                        And howl the giant winds, and sweep12
                        
                        With awful power—13
                        
                        I think how happy I could be,14
                        
                        At home, or—anywhere with thee,15
                        
                        At any hour !16
                        When storms are soften’d to repose,17
                        
                        And Ocean’s breast no ripple knows ;18
                        
                        When, weeping o’er expiring day,19
                        
                        Shines in the south, with holy ray,20
                        
                        The Evening-star ;21
                        
                        With ecstasy I gaze, and turn22
                        
                        To long-departed days, and burn23
                        
                        For thee afar !24
                        Blow strong, blow steady, welcome breeze !25
                        
                        And bear us thro’ the weary seas ;26
                        
                        Until before our wistful eyes27
                        
                        The azure hills of Albyn rise—28
                        
                        My native grove,29
                        
                        In all its summer-pride I see,30
                        
                        The elm-o’ershaded cot, and thee,31
                        
                        My life !— my love !  !32