Farewell, Ianthe, faithless maid

Farewell, Ianthe, faithless maid, Source of my grief and pain; Who with fond hopes my heart betray'd, And fann'd love's kindling flame; Yet gave from me thy hand, this morn, To Corrydon's rich heir, Who with gay vestments did adorn Thee, false, yet beauteous fair.

Adieu, my native soil; ye vales, High woods and tufted hills; Adieu, ye groves and flow'ry dales, Clear streams and crystal rills: Adieu! ye bring into my mind Those past, those happy days, When Iphis found Ianthe kind, And pleasure shewed his ways.

Ere dawn my homely steps I'll bend, Where distant mountains rise, In hopes that reason there may send, That aid she here denies; That time and absence may efface Her image from my breast, Which, whilst she there maintains a place, Can never taste of rest.