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No more within thy vales,
Beside thy plashing wells,
Where sweet Euterpe dwells
With songs of nightingales,
And sounds of flutes that make pale Silence glow,
Shall I their rapture know.
Farewell, ye stately palms
Clashing your cymbal tones
In thro' the mystic moans
Of pines at solemn psalms;
Ye myrtles, singing Love's inspired song,
We part, and part for long.
Farewell, majestic peaks
Whereon my listering soul
Hath trembled to the roll
Of thunders that Jove wreaks—
And calm Minerva's oracles hath heard
All more than now unstirred.
Adieu, ye beds of bloom;
No more shall zephyr bring
To me, upon its wing,
Your loveliest perfume;
No more upon your pure, immortal dyes,
Shall rest my happy eyes.
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