But still disappointed, each anxious day,
In solitude drear I mourn.
“But hark! do I dream? or a sharp quick step
Approaches our cottage door?
A well-known hand, lifts the opening latch,—
I clasp thee, my husband, once more!”
She’s pressed to the heart, of her sailor bold,
Their child in his arms he rears;
The sound of his kiss on its pure soft cheek,
Like a spell dispersed her tears!