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　　Behold The Hour, The Boat Arrive

　　Behold the hour, the boat arrive;

　　Thou goest, the darling of my heart;

　　Sever'd from thee, can I survive,

　　But Fate has will'd and we must part.

　　I'll often greet the surging swell,

　　Yon distant Isle will often hail:

　　“E'en here I took the last farewell;

　　There, latest mark'd her vanish'd sail.”

　　Along the solitary shore,

　　While flitting sea-fowl round me cry,

　　Across the rolling, dashing roar,

　　I'll westward turn my wistful eye:

　　“Happy thou Indian grove,” I'll say,

　　“Where now my Nancy's path may be!

　　While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray,

　　O tell me, does she muse on me!” Poems and Songs of Robert Burns