The Letter

Fare-thee-well, love, now thou art going Over the wild and trackless sea; Smooth be its waves, and fair the wind blowing-- Tho' 'tis to bear thee far from me. But when on the waste of Ocean, Some happy home-bound bark you see, Swear by the truth of thy heart's devotion, To send a letter back to me. Think of the shore thou'st left behind thee, Even when reaching a brighter strand; Let not the golden glories blind thee Of that gorgeous Indian land; Send me not its diamond treasures, Nor pearls from the depth of its sunny sea, But tell me of all thy woes and pleasures, In a long letter back to me. And while dwelling in lands of pleasure, Think, as you bask in their bright sunshine, That while the ling'ring time I measure, Sad and wintry hours are mine; Lonely by my taper weeping And watching, the spark of promise to see-- All for that bright spark, my night-watch keeping, For oh! 'tis a letter, love, from thee! To say that soon thy sail will be flowing Homeward to bear thee over the sea: Calm be the waves and swift the wind blowing, For oh! thou art coming back to me!