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Poem	As slow our ship her foamy track Against the wind was cleaving, Her trembling pennant still look'd back To that dear isle 'twas leaving. So loath we part from all we love, From all the links that bind us; So turn our hearts as on we rove, To those we've left behind us. When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years We talk, with joyous seeming, -- With smiles that might as well be tears, So faint, so sad their beaming; While memory brings us back again Each early tie that twined us, Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then To those we've left behind us. And when, in other climes, we meet Some isle, or vale enhanting, Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet, And nought but love is wanting; We think how great had been our bliss, If Heaven had but assign'd us To live and die in scenes like this, With some we've left behind us! As travellers oft look back at eve, When eastward darkly going, To gaze upon that light they leave Still faint behind them glowing -- So, when the close of pleasure's day To gloom hath near consign'd us, We turn to catch one fading ray Of joy that's left beind us.
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