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195

THE ADIEU.

WRITTEN UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT THE

SOON DIE.

AUTHOR WOULD

ADIEU, thou Hill! (1) where early joy
Spread roses o'er my brow;

Where Science seeks each loitering boy
With knowledge to endow.

Adieu my youthful friends or foes,
Partners of former bliss or woes;

No more through Ida's paths we stray;
Soon must I share the gloomy cell,
Whose ever-slumbering inmates dwell
Unconscious of the day.

Adieu, ye hoary Regal Fanes,
Ye spires of Granta's vale,

Where Learning robed in sable reigns,
And Melancholy pale.

Ye comrades of the jovial hour,
Ye tenants of the classic bower,

On Cama's verdant margin placed,
Adieu! while memory still is mine,
For, offerings on Oblivion's shrine,
These scenes must be effaced.

Adieu, ye mountains of the clime
Where grew my youthful years;

Where Loch na Garr in snows sublime
His giant summit rears.

(1) Harrow.

Why did

my childhood wander forth From you, ye regions of the North,

With sons of pride to roam? Why did I quit my Highland cave,

Marr's dusky heath, and Dee's clear wave, To seek a Sotheron home?

Hall of my Sires! a long farewell ·
Yet why to thee adieu?

Thy vaults will echo back my knell,
Thy towers my tomb will view:
The faltering tongue which sung thy fall,
And former glories of thy Hall (1)
Forgets its wonted simple note -
But yet the Lyre retains the strings,
And sometimes, on Æolian wings,
In dying strains may float.

Fields, which surround yon rustic cot,

While yet I linger here, Adieu! you are not now forgot,

To retrospection dear.

Streamlet! (2) along whose rippling surge,
My youthful limbs were wont to urge
At noontide heat their pliant course;
Plunging with ardour from the shore,
Thy springs will lave these limbs no more,
Deprived of active force.

(1) See ante, pp. 15. 118.

(2) The river Grete, at Southwell. - E

And shall I here forget the scene,

Still nearest to my breast?
Rocks rise, and rivers roll between
The spot which passion blest;
Yet, Mary (1), all thy beauties seem
Fresh as in Love's bewitching dream,
To me in smiles display'd:
Till slow disease resigns his prey
To Death, the parent of decay,
Thine image cannot fade.

And thou, my Friend (2)! whose gentle love
Yet thrills my bosom's chords,
How much thy friendship was above
Description's power of words!

Still near my breast thy gift I wear,
Which sparkled once with Feeling's tear,
Of Love the pure, the sacred gem;
Our souls were equal, and our lot
In that dear moment quite forgot;
Let Pride alone condemn!

All, all, is dark and cheerless now!
No smile of Love's deceit,

Can warm my

veins with wonted glow,

Can bid Life's pulses beat:

Not e'en the hope of future fame,

Can wake my faint, exhausted frame,

(1) Mary Duff. See ante, p. 176. note.

(2) Eddlestone, the Cambridge chorister. See ante, pp. 99, 100.

0 3

Or crown with fancied wreaths Mine is a short inglorious race, To humble in the dust my face, And mingle with the dead.

my head.

Oh Fame! thou goddess of my heart;
On him who gains thy praise,
Pointless must fall the Spectre's dart,
Consumed in Glory's blaze;

But me she beckons from the earth,
My name obscure, unmark'd my birth,.
My life a short and vulgar dream :
Lost in the dull, ignoble crowd.
My hopes recline within a shroud,
My fate is Lethe's stream.

When I repose beneath the sod,
Unheeded in the clay,

Where once my playful footsteps trod,
Where now my head must lay;
The meed of Pity will be shed
In dew-drops o'er my narrow bed,
By nightly skies, and storms alone;
No mortal eye will deign to steep
With tears the dark sepulchral deep
Which hides a name unknown.

Forget this world, my restless sprite,
Turn, turn thy thoughts to Heaven:
There must thou soon direct thy flight,
If errors are forgiven.

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