At eight this morning we weighed anchor on our return to England.
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!