Роберт Бернс (Robert Burns)

Behold the Hour

BEHOLD the hour, the boat arrive!
  Thou goest, thou darling of my heart:
Sever’d from thee can I survive?
  But fate has will’d, and we must part!
I’ll often greet this 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-fowls 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?’

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