Ye winds that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore
Some endearing report
Of a land I shall visit no more:
My friends, do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me?
Convey to this desolate shore
Some endearing report
Of a land I shall visit no more:
My friends, do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me?
Golden Treasury
