"Britain, farewell! I quit thy shore; My native country charms no more; No guide to mark the toilsome road; No destin'd clime; no fix'd abode: Alone and sad, ordain'd to trace The vast expanse of endless space; To view, upon the mountain's height, Through varied shades of glimm'ring light, The distant landscape fade away In the last gleam of parting day: Or, on the quiv'ring lucid stream, To watch the pale moon's silv'ry beam; Or when, in sad and plaintive strains, The mournful Philomel complains, In dulcet tones bewails her fate, And murmurs for her absent mate; Inspir'd by sympathy divine, I'll weep her woes--for they are mine. Driv'n by my fate, where'er I go, O'er burning plains, o'er hills of snow, Or on the bosom of the wave, The howling tempest doom'd to brave,-- Where'er my lonely course I bend, Thy image shall my steps attend; Each object I am doom'd to see, Shall bid remembrance picture thee. Yes; I shall view thee in each flow'r, That changes with the transient hour: Thy wand'ring fancy I shall find Borne on the wings of every wind: Thy wild impetuous passions trace O'er the white waves' tempestuous space; In every changing season prove An emblem of thy wav'ring love. "Torn from my country, friends, and you, The world lies open to my view; New objects shall my mind engage; I will explore th' historic page; Sweet poetry shall soothe my soul; Philosophy each pang control: The muse I'll seek--her lambent fire My soul's quick senses shall inspire; With finer nerves my heart shall beat, Touch'd by heav'n's own Promethean heat; Italia's gales shall bear my song In soft-link'd notes her woods among; Upon the blue hill's misty side, Thro' trackless deserts waste and wide, O'er craggy rocks, whose torrents flow Upon the silver sands below. Sweet land of melody! 'tis thine The softest passions to refine; Thy myrtle groves, thy melting strains, Shall harmonise and soothe my pains. Nor will I cast one thought behind, On foes relentless, friends unkind: I feel, I feel their poison'd dart Pierce the life-nerve within my heart; 'Tis mingled with the vital heat That bids my throbbing pulses beat; Soon shall that vital heat be o'er, Those throbbing pulses beat no more! No--I will breathe the spicy gale; Plunge the clear stream, new health exhale; O'er my pale cheek diffuse the rose, And drink oblivion to my woes."