Adieu, thou hill![4] where early joy
    Spread roses o’er my brow;
  Where science seeks each loitering boy
    With knowledge to endow. 
  Adieu, my youthful friends or foes,
  Partners of former bliss or woes;
    No more through Ida’s path we stray;
  Soon must I share the gloomy cell,
  Whose ever-slumbering inmates dwell
    Unconscious of the day.

  Adieu, ye hoary Regal Fanes,
    Ye spires of Granta’s vale,
  Where learning robed in sable reigns,
    And melancholy pale. 
  Ye comrades of the jovial hour,
  Ye tenants of the classic bower,
    On Cama’s verdant margin placed,
  Adieu! while memory still is mine,
  For offerings on oblivion’s shrine,
    These scenes must be effaced.

  Adieu, ye mountains of the clime,
    Where grew my youthful years;
  Where Loch na Garr in snows sublime
    His giant summit rears. 
  Why did my childhood wander forth
  From you, ye regions of the North,
    With sons of pride to roam? 
  Why did I quit my Highland cave,
  Marr’s dusky heath, and Dee’s clear wave,
    To seek a Sotheron home?

  Hall of my sires! a long farewell;
    Yet why to thee adieu? 
  Thy vaults will echo back my knell,
    Thy towers my tomb will view;
  The faltering tongue which sung thy fall,
  And former glories of thy hall
    Forgets its wonted simple note;
  But yet the lyre retains the strings,
  And sometimes on Aeolian wings,
    In dying strains may float.

  Fields, which surround yon rustic cot,
    While yet I linger here,
  Adieu! you are not now forgot,
    To retrospection dear. 
  Streamlet[5] along whose rippling surge,
  My youthful limbs were wont to urge
    At noontide heat their pliant course;
  Plunging with ardour from the shore,
  Thy springs will lave these limbs no more,
    Deprived of active force.

  And shall I here forget the scene,
    Still nearest to my breast? 
  Rocks rise, and rivers roll between
    The spot which passion blest;
  Yet, Mary,[6] all thy beauties seem
  Fresh as in Love’s bewitching dream,
    To me in smiles display’d: 
  Till slow disease resigns his prey
  To Death, the parent of decay,
    Thine image cannot fade.

  And thou, my friend![7] whose gentle love
    Yet thrills my bosom’s chords,
  How much thy friendship was above
    Description’s power of words! 
  Still near my breast thy gift I wear,
  Which sparkled once with feeling’s tear. 
    Of Love, the pure, the sacred gem;
  Our souls were equal, and our lot
  In that dear moment quite forgot;
    Let Pride alone condemn!

  All, all is dark and cheerless now! 
    No smile of Love’s deceit
  Can warm my veins with wonted glow,
    Can bid Life’s pulses beat: 
  Not e’en the hope of future fame
  Can wake my faint, exhausted frame. 
    Or crown with fancied wreaths my head. 
  Mine is a short inglorious race,
  To humble in the dust my face,
    And mingle with the dead.