Farewell,
O Sun,
Farewell,
O pearl, the poor man’s plenteous treasure;
Farewell,
O golden staff, the weak man’s might;
Farewell,
O joy, the woeful’s only pleasure.
Wisdom,
farewell, the skill-less man’s direction;
Farewell with thee, farewell all our affection.
For
what place now is left for our affection,
Now
that of purest lamp is quit the light,
Which
to our darkened minds was best direction;
Now
that the mine is lost of all our treasure;
Now
death hath swallowed up our worldly pleasure,
We orphans left, void of all public might?
Orphans
indeed, deprived of father’s might:
For
he our father was in all affection,
In
our well-doing placing all his pleasure,
Still
studying how to us to be a light.
As
well he was in peace a safest treasure;
In war his wit and word was our direction.
Whence,
whence alas, shall we seek our direction?
When
that we fear our hateful neighbors’ might,
Who
long have gaped to get Arcadians’ treasure,
Shall
we now find a guide of such affection,
Who
for our sakes will think all travail light,
And make his pain to keep us safe, his pleasure?
No,
no, forever gone is all our pleasure;
For
ever wandering from all good direction;
For
ever blinded of our clearest light;
For
ever lamed of our surest might;
For
ever banished from well-placed affection;
For ever robbed of our royal treasure.
Let
tears for him, therefore, be all our treasure,
And
in our wailful naming him our pleasure;
Let
hating of ourselves be our affection,
And
unto death bend still our thoughts’ direction.
Let
us against ourselves employ our might,
And putting out our eyes, seek we our light.
Farewell
our light, farewell our spoiled treasure;
Farewell
our might, farewell our daunted pleasure;
Farewell
direction, farewell all affection.