I ponder many a silent hour, On friends belov'd when far at sea, And, tell me, have I not the power To draw one kindred thought to me! The while we linger on the coast, My truant fancy homeward flies, And when the view is almost lost, Unmanly tears bedew my eyes-- And oft forgetful do I stand, Nor crew, nor ship, nor ocean see; And often does my heart demand, If friends belov'd thus think on me! And when to England bound once more, I shall with fond impatience burn, Will not some others on the shore As fondly look for my return! O! let me of your kindness hear! Repeat the strain as I depart! It swells like music on my ear, It falls like balm upon my heart. Aug. 21, 1805. * * * * * ANOTHER, WRITTEN EARLIER. Adieu to old England! adieu to my friends! Though fortune and fame I pursue, On thus looking around me, I cannot conceal, How reluctant I bid them adieu! My heart sinks within me, I sigh to the gale, Thus slowly receding from shore, While fancy still whispers some terrible tale, Ah, perhaps I may see it no more! There all that I love, that I value, remain, That only awakens my fears, For will the same spot its dear inmates contain, On the lapse of two lingering years? They may smile in good fortune, or weep in distress, I shall know not a word of their fate! No pain can I soften, no sorrow redress! I may come, when, alas! 'tis too late! I can fly without fear to encounter the foe, To my earliest wish I am true; But I cannot unmov'd quit the friends that I love, Or bid my dear country adieu! * * * * * SONG. SET TO MUSIC BY MR. A. PETTIT, OF NORWICH. Once more then farewell! and whilst I'm away, Oh! let not another entangle thy fancy! I shall think upon thee every hour of the day, And let not my love be forgotten by Nancy! Oh! were I forsaken, the flow'r in my heart, Would fold all its leaves, and re-open them never! The sunshine of joy and of hope would depart, And belief in affection would perish for ever! To talk thus is folly! I doubt not thy truth, A few years of absence will quickly pass over, I scorn other perils that menace my youth, From that wound, I must own, I could never recover! * * * * * HENRY, ON THE DEPARTURE OF HIS WIFE FROM CALCUTTA. Long is thy passage o'er the main, And native air alone can save! No friend thy weakness will sustain, But India is, for thee, a grave! Though winds arise, though surges swell, Maria, we must say farewell!