And now, Farewell; my pleasant task is o'er,
And dear beguilements from old memory's store,
Which solaced oftentimes a wearied hour,
Though told in simple rhymes and lacking power,
Have spoke a language which, albeit the dress,
Your gentle hearts and partial love confess,
Yet, oh, how faint, how puerile, how weak
These timid numbers which essay to speak;
The tender love, the fond desire to see,
All that a parent's heart could ask in thec.
If in the lives which I have sought to trace,
Your eyes may scan a fault which might deface,
Remember truth has bid record it all,
The genius fame and sadly oft the fall.
And now with blessings on each fair young head, My last Farewell in fondest love is said.