Oh, Soon Return.

A poem by Thomas Moore

Our white sail caught the evening ray,
The wave beneath us seemed to burn,
When all the weeping maid could say,
Was, "Oh, soon return!"
Thro' many a clime our ship was driven
O'er many a billow rudely thrown;
Now chilled beneath a northern heaven,
Now sunned in summer's zone:
And still, where'er we bent our way,
When evening bid the west wave burn,
I fancied still I heard her say,
"Oh, soon return!"

If ever yet my bosom found
Its thoughts one moment turned from thee,
'Twas when the combat raged around,
And brave men looked to me.
But tho' the war-field's wild alarm
For gentle love was all unmeet,
He lent to glory's brow the charm,
Which made even danger sweet.
And still, when victory's calm came o'er
The hearts where rage had ceased to burn,
Those parting words I heard once more,
"Oh, soon return!--Oh, soon return!"

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