Detdiar sidj as efterluket wurden.
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Ye sparkling fountains, that with patient flow
Feed all these shining rills,
Your ceaseless murmur, melancholy, low,
My soul with anguish fills.
For in your voice I hear the unending moan
Of father, mother mild,
Who now sit broken-hearted and alone,
Despairing for their child.
O God! and must I never more behold
My blessed island home!
Ne'er comfort more my parents now grown old
With waiting till I come!
Last night methought my mother softly pressed
Her hand upon my head;
She looked not sad, but on her lips did rest
The smile worn by the dead.
