Parent of golden dreams， Romance！

    Auspicious¹ Queen of childish joys，

    Who lead'st along， in airy dance，

    Thy votive train of girls and boys；

    At length， in spells no longer bound，

    I break the fetters² of my youth；

    No more I tread thy mystic round，

    But leave thy realms for those of Truth.

    And yet 'tis hard to quit the dreams

    Which haunt the unsuspicious soul，

    Where every nymph a goddess seems，

    Whose eyes through rays immortal³ roll；

    While Fancy holds her boundless⁴ reign⁵，

    And all assume a varied⁶ hue⁷；

    When Virgins⁸ seem no longer vain，

    And even Woman's smiles are true.

    And must we own thee， but a name，

    And from thy hall of clouds descend⁹？

    Nor find a Sylph in every dame¹⁰，

    A Pylades in every friend？

    But leave， at once， thy realms of air i

    To mingling¹¹ bands of fairy elves；

    Confess that woman's false as fair，

    And friends have feeling for——themselves？

    With shame， I own， I've felt thy sway；

    Repentant¹²， now thy reign is o'er；

    No more thy precepts¹³ I obey，

    No more on fancied pinions¹⁴ soar；

    Fond fool！ to love a sparkling eye，

    And think that eye to truth was dear；

    To trust a passing wanton's sigh，

    And melt beneath a wanton's tear！

    Romance！ disgusted with deceit，

    Far from thy motley court I fly，

    Where Affectation holds her seat，

    And sickly Sensibility；

    Whose silly tears can never flow

    For any pangs¹⁵ excepting thine；

    Who turns aside from real woe¹⁶，

    To steep in dew thy gaudy¹⁷ shrine¹⁸.

    Now join with sable¹⁹ Sympathy，

    With cypress²⁰ crown'd， array'd in weeds，

    Who heaves with thee her simple sigh，

    Whose breast for every bosom²¹ bleeds；

    And call thy sylvan²² female choir²³，

    To mourn a Swain for ever gone，

    Who once could glow with equal fire，

    But bends not now before thy throne.

    Ye genial²⁴ Nymphs， whose ready tears

    On all occasions swiftly flow；

    Whose bosoms²⁵ heave with fancied fears，

    With fancied flames and phrenzy glow

    Say， will you mourn my absent name，

    Apostate²⁶ from your gentle train

    An infant Bard²⁷， at least， may claim

    From you a sympathetic strain.

    Adieu， fond race！ a long adieu！

    The hour of fate is hovering²⁸ nigh；

    E'en now the gulf²⁹ appears in view，

    Where unlamented you must lie：

    Oblivion's blackening lake is seen，

    Convuls'd by gales³⁰ you cannot weather，

    Where you， and eke³¹ your gentle queen，

    Alas³²！ must perish altogether.

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