And they, who late with anguish, hard to tell,
Breathed to their cherish’d realms a sad farewell!
Who, as the vessel bore them o’er the tide,
Still fondly linger’d on its deck, and sigh’d;
Gazed on the shore, till tears obscured their sight,
And the blue distance melted into light—
The Royal exiles, forced by Gallia’s hate
To fly for refuge in a foreign state—
They, soon returning o’er the western main,
Ere long may view their clime beloved again: