SONG
.
FAR
,
far
from
me
my
love
is
fled
,
In
a
light
skiff
he
tempts
the
sea
,
The
young
desires
his
sails
have
spread
,
And
hope
his
pilot
deigns
to
be
.
The
promis'd
land
of
varied
joy
,
Which
so
delights
his
fickle
mind
,
In
waking
dreams
his
days
employ
,
While
I
,
poor
I
,
sing
to
the
wind
.
But
young
desires
grow
old
and
die
,
And
hope
no
more
the
helm
may
steer
;
Beneath
a
dark
and
stormy
sky
Shall
fall
the
late
repentant
tear
.
While
I
,
within
my
peaceful
grot
,
May
hear
the
distant
tempest
roar
,
Contented
with
my
humble
lot
,
In
safety
on
the
friendly
shore
.