On
Leaving
Killarney
.
August
5
,
1800.
FAREWEL
,
sweet
scenes
!
pensive
once
more
I
turn
Those
pointed
hills
,
and
wood-fringed
lakes
to
view
With
fond
regret
;
while
in
this
last
adieu
A
silent
tear
those
brilliant
hours
shall
mourn
For
ever
past
.
So
from
the
pleasant
shore
,
Borne
with
the
struggling
bark
against
the
wind
,
The
trembling
pennant
fluttering
looks
behind
With
vain
reluctance
!
'Mid
those
woods
no
more
For
me
the
voice
of
pleasure
shall
resound
,
Nor
soft
flutes
warbling
o'er
the
placid
lake
Aërial
music
shall
for
me
awake
,
And
wrap
my
charmed
soul
in
peace
profound
!
Though
lost
to
me
,
here
still
may
Taste
delight
To
dwell
,
nor
the
rude
axe
the
trembling
Dryads
fright
!