The brigantine Rolls by the strand, To bear me from My native land. O virgin Queen! I turn to you: Adieu, dear scene-- Provence, adieu! When blows the gale, My sire will see My mother's cheek Grow pale for me. O virgin Queen! I turn to you: Adieu, dear scene-- My sire, adieu! The old Helene Will trust, I'm sure, Her nine days' prayer, And sleep secure. O virgin Queen! I turn to you: Adieu, dear scene, Helene, adieu! My sister too Will say this morn-- "I've had a dream, He will return." O virgin Queen! I turn to you: Adieu, dear scene, Sister, adieu! Thy glance, Isaure, Pursues my track; Thy kerchief white Invites me back! O virgin Queen! I turn to you: Adieu, dear scene, Isaure, adieu! Thou blowest, breeze, How harsh of thee, When my Isaure Would speak to me! O virgin Queen! I turn to you: Adieu, dear scene, And joy, adieu!
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Published in 1999 by
Dennis McCarthy
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