For they began to count the hours,
When, from the salt sea foam,
Back, to his long betrothed bride,
Their sailor would come home.
But human hope is vanity,
And human trust is vain;
Oh pity for them!—could their eyes
Have looked across the main,
They would have seen a youthful step
Grow weaker day by day;
They would have seen the hues of health
Waste gradual away.
One only, of the hardy crew,
That stately vessel bore,
Was doomed to see his native land
And his true love no more.
One mournful eve—a sullen plunge
Was heard below the wave—
The cannon pealed, the wild wind swept
O'er the young sailor's grave.
Days passed, they knew not of his death—
They looked for his return—
No more for him their porch shall bloom,
No more their hearth shall burn.
