YARRA.
Poor Yarra comes to bid farewell,
But Yarra’s lips can never say it!
Her swimming eyes—her bosom’s swell—
The debt she owes you, these must pay it.
She ne’er can speak, though tears can start,
Her grief, that fate so soon removes you;
But One there is, who reads the heart,
And well He knows how Yarra loves you!
See, massa, see this sable boy!
When chill disease had nipp’d his flower,
You came and spoke the word of joy,
And poured the juice of healing power.
To visit far Jamaica’s shore
Had no kind angel deign’d to move you,
These laughing eyes had laugh’d no more,
Nor Yarra lived to thank and love you,
Then grieve not, massa, that to view
Our isle you left your British pleasures:
One tear, which falls in grateful dew,
Is worth the best of Britain’s treasures.
And sure, the thought will bring relief,
What e’er your fate, wherever rove you,
Your wealth’s not given by pain and grief,
But hands that know, and hearts that love you.
May He, who bade you cross the wave,
Through care for Afric’s sons and daughters;
When round your bark the billows rave,
In safety guide you through the waters!
By all you love with smiles be met;
Through life each good man’s tongue approve you:
And though far distant, don’t forget,
While Yarra lives, she’ll live to love you!