And a calm would fall upon me,
Worn perhaps with work and pain,
The wild hungry longing left me,
And I was myself again: 
Looking at the silver waters,
Looking up at the far sky,
Dreams of home and all I left there
Floated sorrowfully by.

A fair face, but pale with sorrow,
With blue eyes, brimful of tears,
And the little red mouth, quivering
With a smile, to hide its fears;
Holding out her baby towards me,
From the sky she looked on me;
So it was that last I saw her,
As the ship put out to sea.

Sometimes, (and a pang would seize me
That the years were floating on,)
I would strive to paint her, altered,
And the little baby gone: 
She no longer young and girlish,
The child, standing by her knee,
And her face, more pale and saddened
With the weariness for me.

Then I saw, as night grew darker. 
How she taught my child to pray,
Holding its small hands together,
For its father, far away;
And I felt her sorrow, weighing
Heavier on me than my own;
Pitying her blighted spring-time,
And her joy so early flown.

Till upon my hands (now hardened
With the rough, harsh toil of years)
Bitter drops of anguish falling,
Woke me from my dream, to tears;
Woke me as a slave, an outcast. 
Leagues from home, across the deep;
So—­though you may call it childish—­
So I sobbed myself to sleep.

Well, the years sped on—­my Sorrow,
Calmer, and yet stronger grown,
Was my shield against all suffering,
Poorer, meaner, than her own. 
Thus my cruel master’s harshness
Fell upon me all in vain,
Yet the tale of what we suffered
Echoed back from main to main.

You have heard in a far country
Of a self-devoted band,
Vowed to rescue Christian captives
Pining in a foreign land. 
And these gentle-hearted strangers
Year by year go forth from Rome,
In their hands the hard-earned ransom,
To restore some exiles home.

I was freed:  they broke the tidings
Gently to me:  but indeed
Hour by hour sped on, I knew not
What the words meant—­I was freed! 
Better so, perhaps; while sorrow
(More akin to earthly things)
Only strains the sad heart’s fibres—­
Joy, bright stranger, breaks the strings.

Yet at last it rushed upon me,
And my heart beat full and fast;
What were now my years of waiting,
What was all the dreary past? 
Nothing—­to the impatient throbbing
I must bear across the sea: 
Nothing—­to the eternal hours
Still between my home and me!

How the voyage passed, I know not;
Strange it was once more to stand
With my countrymen around me,
And to clasp an English hand. 
But, through all, my heart was dreaming
Of the first words I should hear,
In the gentle voice that echoed,
Fresh as ever, on my ear.

Should I see her start of wonder,
And the sudden truth arise,
Flushing all her face and lightening
The dimmed splendour of her eyes? 
Oh! to watch the fear and doubting
Stir the silent depths of pain,
And the rush of joy—­then melting
Into perfect peace again.