Page:Halleck.djvu/154

 Another hour—and the death-word is given, Another hour—and his lightnings are here; Speed! speed thee, my bark; ere the breeze of even Is lost in the tempest, our home will be near.

Then away o'er the wave, while thy pennant is streaming In the shadowy light, like a shooting-star; Be swift as the thought of the wanderer, dreaming, In a stranger land, of his fireside afar.

And while memory lingers I'll fondly believe thee A being with life and its best feelings warm; And freely the wild song of gratitude weave thee, Blessed spirit! that bore me and mine from the storm.

But where is Fanny? She has long been thrown Where cheeks and roses wither—in the shade. The age of chivalry, you know, is gone; And although, as I once before have said, I love a pretty face to adoration, Yet, still, I must preserve my reputation,