That from woman’s lip it fell.
“Away, away o’er the foaming main!”
This was the free and the joyous strain,
“There are clearer skies than ours, afar,
We will shape our course by a brighter star;
There are plains whose verdure no foot hath press’d,
And whose wealth is all for the first brave guest.”
“But, alas! that we should go,”
Sang the farewell voices then,
“From the homesteads, warm and low,