Twelve months are past, since on this…

Twelve months are past, since on this strand, In sad distress we parted, And as the boat forsook the land, The oar my hand deserted: My eyes on yours were fondly bent, And seemed their tears to borrow, And sure from you a look was sent, That well repaid my sorrow.

To bear me quickly from the shore, The crew our grief surveying, With lengthen'd stroke, still kept the oar, In well tim'd measure playing: 'Till distance and approaching night, Your lovely image shaded; Yet ever in ideal sight, Your beauty rose unfaded.

Oft when the midnight watch I've kept, While seas were round us swelling, I've fear'd alone, the gale had swept, Too rudely o'er your dwelling. But now my love, no more your breast, Shall beat with sad emotion; I'll try to make each moment blest, Nor tempt again the ocean.