Now the rosy-bosom'd spring,
Smiling, wafts its tepid gales;
Mild Favonius spreads his wing,
And o'er stormy skies prevails:

Warm Nicæa's fertile soil,
Phrygia's fields I now forsake;
Where proud Asia's cities smile,
I my distant journey take:

Fain my swift feet would pursue
Paths, to which fond fancy roams;
Sweet companions all, adieu,
Wand'ring from your various homes!