She woos the gentle western gales,
And takes her pathway o’er the sea.
The vales go down where roses bloom—
The hill tops follow green and fair;
The lofty beacon sinks in gloom,
And purpled mountains hang in air.
Along she speeds with snowy wings,
Around her breaks the foaming deep;
The tempest thro’ her rigging sings,
And weary eyes their vigils keep.