Anna — before tomorrow’s sun with cheering ray
Shall gild the East, and give the promised day,
Thy hapless Lover sails upon the main
No more to see his Love, his Home again!
For the last time, around thy dwelling
He wanders lonely, each fond fancy telling
To every passing gale!
Ah! cold the passing gale that fans thy cheek
Half the deep anguish of this bosom speak,
Would trembling drops of pity dim thy eye
And for my sorrows wouldst thou heave the sigh?
Hence idle thought! for me no tears would flow.
Rest then, unconscious of my careless woe!
Be silent gentle gale!
Yet my loved Anna, at some pensive hour
When the pale moon-beam lights thy favorite bower
Think the sad murmurs issuing from the grove
Like the last sighs of one who dies for love!
Think the light breeze that curls the silvery wave
Sweeps the long grass that decks thy lover’s grave!
On a far distant shore!