Classic Poem

1

The sun descends, the day grows late,
Dark clouds the welkin fleck;
The whistle of the boatswain's mate
Sounds on the windy deck.

As leaps the vicuna o'er the plain
We leap across the sea;
And Lima, from this stormy main,
My heart returns to thee.

Far off the music of the dance,
Where joy the night-hour chases;
Far off (what eyes like theirs can glance?)
The sweet Limenean faces;

But as our vessel northward booms
Beneath the stormy sky,
Cristobal's mount before me looms,
The Rimac wanders by.

2

Querida mia, once again
I hear thy tender voice;
Of all the maids in Lima then,
Thou ever wast my choice.

Once more thy gentle form I take,
And through the waltz we float —
The music is a fairy lake,
O'er which doth glide our boat.

On — on — thy pulse is timed with mine,
Our spirits are as one;
On — on — till morning sun doth shine,
And joyous night is done!

Querida mia, distant now
The hands which here address thee;
But to thy beauty still I bow,
And still I pray — God bless thee!