No more we meet in yonder bowers Absence has made me prone to roving; But older, firmer hearts than ours, Have found monotony in loving.
For pleasures past I do not grieve, nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave nothing that claims a tear.
The drying up a single tear has more, of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore.
Alas! how deeply painful is all payment!
Land of lost gods and godlike men.
Retirement accords with the tone of my mind; I will not descend to a world I despise.