Oran gaoil'

Behold the hour the boat arrive!

Thou goest, thou darling of my heart:

Ah! sever'd from thee, can I survive?

But fate has will'd, and we must part!

I'll often greet this surging swell;

Yon distant isle will often hail;

"E'en here, I took the last farewel;

"There, latest mark'd her vanish'd sail".

Along the solitary shore,

While flitting sea-fowls round me cry,

Across the rolling, dashing roar,

I'Il westward turn my wistful eye:

Happy, thou Indian grove, I'Il say,

Where now my Nancy's path may be!

While through thy sweets she loves to stray,

O tell me, does she muse on me!