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And full of hope day followed day
While that stout Ship at anchor lay
Beside the shores of Wight;
The May had then made ail things green;
And, floating there in pomp serene,
That Ship was goodly to be seen,
His pride and his delight!
Yet then, when called ashore, he sought
The tender peace of rural thought;
In more than happy mood
To your abodes, bright daisy Flowers!
He then would steal at leisure hours,
And loved you glittering in your bowers,
A starry multitude.
But hark the word!—the Ship is gone;—
From her long course returns:—anon
Sets sail:—in season due
Once more on English earth they stand:
But, when a third time from the land
They parted, sorrow was at hand
For Him and for his Crew.
