’Neath Death’s downy pinions come slumber in peace;
Leave the world to the rosy-crown’d vot’ries of Pleasure,
Its garlands must wither—its Bacchanals cease!
Dear Enchantress, farewell! but that friend of my bosom
Revisit once more, o’er the waves’ deafening swell,
Inspire him that one fleeting flowret may blossom
To the memory of him who hath loved him so well!
Paris, France.