From springtime on to summer draws the year.
And still they come not, still we watch and weep;
But see yon cloud of canvas faint and far,
They come! the lov'd, the long'd for, home from war.
Streamers and pennons wave! they near the shore,
Signal to signal answering,
Signal to signal answering, fleet to fort.

But many a noble ship and gallant crew
That sail'd exulting forth returns no more;
Where is the galley that bore hence my love?
It shews not with the rest!
Oh, presage dire!
Mourn, mourn with me, my love is lost or slain.