My thoughts flew home without a fear.
And with content returned again.
To-day, alas! the fancies dark
That from my laden bosom flew,
Returning, came into the ark,
Not with the olive, with the yew.
The ships draw slowly towards the strand,
The watchers' hearts with hope beat high;
But ne'er again wilt thou touch land—
Lost, lost in yonder sapphire sky!