The Seventh of November
The day returns, my bosom burns, The blissful day we twa did meet: Tho' Winter wild, in tempest toil'd, Ne'er simmer-sun was half sae sweet. Than a' the pride that loads the tide, And crosses o'er the sultry Line; Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes, Heav'n gave me more - it made thee mine. While day and night can bring delight, Or Nature aught of pleasure give; While Joys Above, my mind can move, For Thee, and Thee alone, I live! When that grim foe of life below Comes in between to make us part; The iron hand that breaks our Band, It breaks my bliss - it breaks my heart!