Good-bye
Good-bye,
proud
world!
I'm
going
home;
Thou
art
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
to
yon
green
hills
alone,—
A
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.
O,
when
I
am
safe
in
my
sylvan
home,
I
tread
on
the
pride
of
Greece
and
Rome;
And
when
I
am
stretched
beneath
the
pines,
Where
the
evening
star
so
holy
shines,
I
laugh
at
the
lore
and
the
pride
of
man,
At
the
sophist
schools
and
the
learned
clan;
For
what
are
they
all,
in
their
high
conceit,
When
man
in
the
bush
with
God
may
meet?
