162
CONSTANCE.
The tropic stars are looking down
Upon the midnight deep;
The wind blows fresh, as on our course
Right gallantly we sweep;
For thee I wake, O fair beloved!
Far o'er the flashing foam,
My fears, my hopes, my tender thoughts,
Like swift-winged birds, fly home!
Constance, my bride,
My heart's dear pride,
Say, is it well with thee?
The tropic stars are looking down
Upon the midnight deep;
The wind blows fresh, as on our course
Right gallantly we sweep;
For thee I wake, O fair beloved!
Far o'er the flashing foam,
My fears, my hopes, my tender thoughts,
Like swift-winged birds, fly home!
Constance, my bride,
My heart's dear pride,
Say, is it well with thee?
I wake from dreams that some dread ill
Hath breathed upon thy bloom,—
That round thy ways are falling fast
The cold shades of the tomb;
Hath breathed upon thy bloom,—
That round thy ways are falling fast
The cold shades of the tomb;
