("Adieu, patrie.")
{Bk. V. ix., Aug. 1, 1852.}
Farewell the strand,
The sails expand
Above!
Farewell the land
We love!
Farewell, old home where apples swing!
Farewell, gay song-birds on the wing!
Farewell, riff-raff
Of Customs' clerks who laugh
And shout:
"Farewell!" We'll quaff
One bout
To thee, young lass, with kisses sweet!
Farewell, my dear—the ship flies fleet!
The fog shuts out the last fond peep,
As 'neath the prow the cast drops weep.
Farewell, old home, young lass, the bird!
The whistling wind alone is heard:
Farewell! Farewell!