Must be the sounds that hail me then.
The hour has come, fresh blows the gale,
Our ship moves down yon tide afar,
Away, away beyond that tide
Thy image follows as a star;
Farewell to thee, farewell to all,
My native land and skies above;
O who will greet the wanderer now
With soothing words or smiles of love?
Remember me, ’tis all I ask,