How slow his pace! how spiritless his eye!
Like a dark cloud in summer's rosy dawn,
He saddens pleasure as he passes by.
Long kept in exile by paternal pride,
He feels no joy beneath this splendid dome;
For, till the elder child of promise died,
He knew a dearer, though a humbler home.
Then the proud sail was spread! The youth obey'd,
Left ev'ry friend, and every scene he knew;
For ever left the soul-affianc'd maid,