Didst turn to see thy fatherland once more,
Bearing affection's dearest ties with thee;
And as the vessel bore thee to our shore,
And hope rose to fulfilment,—on the deck,
When friends seemed almost beckoning unto thee:
O God! the fearful storm,—the splitting wreck,—
The drowning billows of the dreary sea!
O, many a heart was stricken dumb with grief!
We who had known thee here,—had met thee there
Where Rome threw golden light on every leaf