Thou dear delightful vale adieu!
Sweet spot, from early years belov'd,
Enraptur'd still thy charms I view,
Nor leave thee with a heart unmov'd.

To Crossdale's wildly-winding stream,
Its hanging woods and hollow dell,
(Where wand'ring bards might love to dream,)
Reluctantly I bid farewell.

No more the cuckoo's evening song,
The thrush or linnet's matin clear,
Echoing these lonely woods among,
Will sooth a musing list'ner's ear.

No more where Lune's transparent flood
O'er shelving rocks swift rolls away,
Through verdant meads and tangled wood,
Or yellow broom-clad heights I'll stray.

Ye dusky mountains crown'd with heath,
With dark and rugged glens between,
And mossy pastures spread beneath,
A wild, yet varied pleasing scene:

For ever o'er whose chequer'd sides
Sun-beams and clouds each other chase;
Fast as the fleeting splendour glides
The gath'ring storm supplies its place:

No more your shadowy glens along
I'll watch the sun's declining ray,
Your crags, your fern, and heath among,
With setting lustre mildly play.

Farewell ye riv'lets of the hills,
That down your narrow channels sweep,
Collected from surrounding rills,
With rapid sounding currents sweep.

Ye tufts of clust'ring flow'rets sweet,
Array'd in summer's varied pride,
Long wont my partial eyes to greet,
By ev'ry verdant hedge-row's side—

Now peeping through the dewy grass,
And glistening in the morning beam,
As by your smiling groupes I pass,
To court my longer stay you seem.

But court in vain, for fate denies,
I to my distant home return,
You'll bloom as fair for other eyes,
Nor ever for my absence mourn.

Hills, woods, and streams, and meadows green,
To you, and to my friends, farewell!
Those generous friends, and each lov'd scene,
Shall long in my rememb'rance dwell.