Farewell! now, Miss Gordon, my day dream is over
And I march in the morn with our Royal young Rover.
Yet peace be about you both sleeping and waking,
Though I live on without you with a heart nigh to breaking.

Oh, have you forgotten, oh, have you forgotten,
When I found the white heath all among the moor cotton,
How you wore it, on your bosom, for a whole week together?
Is my love flung away with that spray of white heather?

And do you remember, oh, do you remember,
When the falling star flashed that bright night of September;
How your heart's wish I read in your rapt look of longing?
Have you crushed that hope dead, to my heart's bitter wronging?

But with lips still locked tight, at your pride's stern commanding,
As a statue death white, here before me you're standing.
Woe's me we part thus! yet if so we must sever,
Farewell now, Miss Gordon, oh, farewell for ever.