A wretch forsakes his native land,
In foreign climes condemned to roam,
An endless exile from his home;
Pensive he treads the destined way; 5
And dreads to go; nor dares to stay;
Till on some neighbouring mountain’s brow
He stops, and turns his eyes below;
There, melting at the well-known view,
Drops a last tear, and bids adieu: 10
So I, thus doomed from thee to part,