On leaving the Country.
Ah! sweet romantic spot, adieu!
Ere your green fields again I view,
These looks may change their youthful hue.
Dependence sternly bids me part
From all that ye, lov’d scenes! impart,
Far from my treasure and my heart.
Tho’ winter shall your bloom invade,
Fancy may visit ev’ry shade,
Each bow’r shall kiss the wand’ring maid.
To busier scenes of life I fly,
Where many smile, where many sigh,
As Chance, not Worth, turns up the die.