Early Adieux
Adieu to kindred hearts and home,
To pleasure, joy, and mirth,
A fitter foot than mine to roam
Could scarcely tread the earth ;
For they are now so few indeed
(Not more than three in all),
Who e'er will think of me or heed
What fate may me befall.
For I through pleasure's paths have run
My headlong goal to win,
Nor pleasure's snares have cared to shun
When pleasure sweetened sin.
Let those who will their failings mask,
To mine I frankly own ;
But for them pardon will I ask
Of none—save Heaven alone.
From carping friends I turn aside ;
At foes defiance frown ;
Yet time may tame my stubborn pride,
And break my spirit down.
Still, if to error I incline,
Truth whispers comfort strong,
That never reckless act of mine
E'er worked a comrade wrong.
My mother is a stately dame,
Who oft would chide with me ;
She saith my riot bringeth shame,
And stains my pedigree.
I'd reck not what my friends might know,
Or what the world might say,
Did I but think some tears would flow
When I am far away.
Perchance my mother will recall
My mem'ry with a sigh ;
My gentle sister's tears may fall,
And dim her laughing eye ;
Perhaps a loving thought may gleam,
And fringe its saddened ray,
When, like a nightmare's troubled dream,
I, outcast, pass away.
Then once again farewell to those
Who e'er for me have sighed ;
For pleasures melt away like snows,
And hopes like shadows glide.
Adieu, my mother ! if no more
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poem by Adam Lindsay Gordon
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