Classic Poem

Adieu, my love, my Mary dear!
Fair rose of innocence, adieu!
The stifled sob, the burning tear,
The trembling voice, are all for you;
For I must cross the stormy main,
Already comes the parting day;
But when on Plata's distant plain,
I'll think of thee, though far away.

Each scene of youthful joys gone by,
That now in memory's chamber sleep,
Shall often rise before my eye,
And bid me think of thee and weep:
And while reclining 'neath the palm,
That rocks before the breeze's sway,
O, to my spirit what a balm,
To think of thee, though far away.

The lonely vale, the quiet tower,
The maple waving on the hill,
Where oft at evening's balmy hour
We listened to the murmuring rill, —
Where oft we saw the glowing west,
Rich with the hues of parting day, —
Shall waken in my throbbing breast
Sweet thoughts of thee, though far away.

The pomp of wealth, the blaze of war,
Shall ever seem a trifling dream,
When, smiling o'er the main afar,
I mark thy star's benignant beam;
When sickness sinks my drooping head,
This star shall shed a soothing ray,
And cheer the lonely dying-bed
With thoughts of thee, though far away.

Adieu, my love, my Mary dear!
Charm of my heart, a fond adieu!
Forgive me if I shed a tear,
Forgive me if I weep for you:
The streamer wantons in the wind,
The sailor shouts with spirits gay:
O, bear my image in thy mind,
I'll think of thee, though far away.