Methinks each object bids me quick depart
And ev’ry sighing gale thus seems to say:
“Retire, fond maid, nor here forever mourn,
Forget thy woes, forget thy useless grief;
Can ceaseless weeping cause the dead’s return,
Or sighs eternal give the heart relief.”
I go, adieu! ye much lov’d shades, adieu!
From your wild beauties far tho’ doom’d to stray,
Still faithful memory shall your charms renew,
And with the semblance cheer my lonely way.