And he cried with thankful fervor,
And a dying hero's force, -
"Yonder, see, the fog is lifting,
There for India shape our course."
And the folk of Bonney Castle
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Speak with reverence, as they show
One old ruin where the creepers,
All neglected, wildly grow.
And they tell in bated whispers,
How upon one wintry morn,
When the maid went to the study,
She had found her master gone.
And the boatswain of a vessel
That had sought the sheltered bay
Said he saw, at early daybreak,
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