Good-bye, proud world! I’m going home:Thou art not my friend, and I’m not thine.Long through thy weary crowds I roam;A river-ark on the ocean brine, Long I’ve been tossed like the driven foam:But now, proud world! I’m going home.Good-bye to Flattery’s fawning face;To Grandeur with his wise grimace;To upstart Wealth’s averted eye;To supple Office, low and high;To crowded halls, to court and street;To frozen hearts and hasting feet;To those who go, and those who come;Good-bye, proud world! I’m going home.I am going to my own hearth-stone, Bosomed in yon green hills alone, —secret nook in a pleasant land, Whose groves the frolic fairies planned;Where arches green, the livelong day, Echo the blackbird’s roundelay, And vulgar feet have never trod A spot that is sacred to thought and God.
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