They bid me Poetry resign--the mandate I obey:
Farewell, forever then farewell, to the inspiring lay.
I go to other happiness--in a bright and sunny clime
I'll rove amid the orange groves, the olive, and the vine.
I'll sing and dance to merry strains of some Italian band--
I'll dream no more of Poetry, nor of "my native land;"
And as the gondolier doth guide me home from mirth and song,
My thoughts shall with the gondola glide undisturbed along.
I'll live for fêtes and operas--I'll haunt the masquerade,
And all sweet visions of the Lyre shall from my memory fade;
And Love--(for that were Poetry)--I must resign: apart
The Lyre and Love can ne'er exist within the human heart.
And now once more I bid adieu to all thy tender joys
Sweet Muse, and fly to festive scenes--to folly, mirth and noise;
But ne'er amid these labyrinths, do I expect to find
A solace for the loss of Love and Poetry combined.
{77}