Farewell to Love
I had a heart that doated once in passion’s boundless pain,And though the tyrant I abjured, I could not break his chain;But now that Fancy’s fire is quenched, and ne’er can burn anew,I’ve bid to Love, for all my life, adieu! adieu! adieu!
I’ve known, if ever mortal knew, the spells of Beauty’s thrall,And if my song has told them not, my soul has felt them all;But Passion robs my peace no more, and Beauty’s witching swayIs now to me a star that’s fall’n—a dream that’s passed away.
Hail! welcome tide of life, when no tumultuous billows roll,How wondrous to myself appears this halcyon calm of soul!The wearied bird blown o’er the deep would sooner quit its shore,Than I would cross the gulf again that time has brought me o’er.
Why say the Angels feel the flame?—Oh, spirits of the skies!Can love like ours, that doats on dust, in heavenly bosoms rise?—Ah no; the hearts that best have felt its power, the best can tell,That peace on earth itself begins, when Love has bid farewell.
Was man e’er doomed that beauty madeBy mimic art should haunt him?Like Orpheus, I adore a shade,And doat upon a phantom.
Thou maid that in my inmost thoughtArt fancifully sainted,Why liv’st thou not—why art thou noughtBut canvass sweetly painted?
Whose looks seem lifted to the skies,Too pure for love of mortals—As if they drew angelic eyesTo greet thee at heaven’s portals.
Yet loveliness has here no grace,Abstracted or ideal—Art ne’er but from a living faceDrew looks so seeming real.
What wert thou, maid?—thy life—thy nameOblivion hides in mystery;Though from thy face my heart could frameA long romantic history.
Transported to thy time I seem,Though dust thy coffin covers—And hear the songs, in fancy’s dream,Of thy devoted lovers.
How witching must have been thy breath—How sweet the living charmer—Whose very semblance after deathCan make the heart grow warmer!
Adieu, the charms that vainly moveMy soul in their possession—That prompt my lips to speak of love,Yet rob them of expression.
Yet thee, dear picture, to have praisedWas but a poet’s duty;And shame to him that ever gazedImpassive on thy beauty.
Words in this poem
- witching a.
- That witches or enchants; suited to enchantment or witchcraft; bewitching.
- wondrous adv.
- In a wonderful or surprising manner or degree; wonderfully. [OE. wonders, adv. (later also adj.). See Wonder, n., and cf. -wards.]
- orpheus n.
- The famous mythic Thracian poet, son of the Muse Calliope, and husband of Eurydice. He is reputed to have had power to entrance beasts and inanimate objects by the music of his lyre.
- adore v. t.
- To worship with profound reverence; to pay divine honors to; to honor as deity or as divine. [OE. aouren, anouren, adoren, OF. aorer, adorer, F. adorer, fr. L. adorare; ad + orare to speak, pray, os, oris, mouth. In OE. confused with honor, the French pr]
- inmost a.
- Deepest within; farthest from the surface or external part; innermost. [OE. innemest, AS. innemest, a double superlative form fr. inne within, fr. in in. The modern form is due to confusion with most. See In, and cf. Aftermost, Fore]
- sainted a.
- Consecrated; sacred; holy; pious.
- loveliness n.
- The state or quality of being lovely. [From Lovely.]
- oblivion n.
- The act of forgetting, or the state of being forgotten; cessation of remembrance; forgetfulness. [L. oblivio, akin to oblivisci to forget: cf. OF. oblivion.]
- charmer n.
- One who charms, or has power to charm; one who uses the power of enchantment; a magician. Deut. xviii. 11.
- impassive a.
- Not susceptible of pain or suffering; apathetic; impassible; unmoved.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Farewell to Love is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poetical Works of Thomas Campbell, Project Gutenberg ebook #59788; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Thomas Campbell, Farewell to Love, in The Pleasures of Hope, and Other Poems (1824), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #59788, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/campbell-poems/farewell-to-love.html, id L24446.
Form and metre
Farewell to Love is 52 lines in 13 stanzas of 4 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABAB, complete in 8 of its 13 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 90%).
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 AABB painA · chainA · anewB · adieuB
- 2 AABB thrallA · allA · swayB · awayB
- 3 AA-- rollA · soulA · shore · o'er
- 4 AABB skiesA · riseA · tellB · farewellB
- 5 ABAB madeA · himB · shadeA · phantomB
- 6 ABAB thoughtA · saintedB · noughtA · paintedB
- 7 ABAB skiesA · mortalsB · eyesA · portalsB
- 8 ABAB graceA · idealB · faceA · realB
- 9 ABAB nameA · mysteryB · frameA · historyB
- 10 ABAB seemA · coversB · dreamA · loversB
- 11 A-A- breathA · charmer · deathA · warmer
- 12 ABAB moveA · possessionB · loveA · expressionB
- 13 ABAB praisedA · dutyB · gazedA · beautyB
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| I had a heart that doated once in passion’s boundless pain, | 14 | ·········/˘/˘· |
| And though the tyrant I abjured, I could not break his chain; | 14 | ···/˘········· |
| But now that Fancy’s fire is quenched, and ne’er can burn anew, | 14 | ···/˘/······˘/ |
| I’ve bid to Love, for all my life, adieu! adieu! adieu! | 14 | ········˘/˘/˘/ |
| I’ve known, if ever mortal knew, the spells of Beauty’s thrall, | 13 | ···//˘····/˘· |
| And if my song has told them not, my soul has felt them all; | 14 | ·············· |
| But Passion robs my peace no more, and Beauty’s witching sway | 14 | ·/˘······/˘/˘· |
| Is now to me a star that’s fall’n—a dream that’s passed away. | 14 | ············˘/ |
| Hail! welcome tide of life, when no tumultuous billows roll, | 14 | ·/˘······/˘/˘· |
| How wondrous to myself appears this halcyon calm of soul! | 14 | ·/˘··/˘/·/˘··· |
| The wearied bird blown o’er the deep would sooner quit its shore, | 14 | ·/˘······/˘··· |
| Than I would cross the gulf again that time has brought me o’er. | 14 | ······˘/······ |
| Why say the Angels feel the flame?—Oh, spirits of the skies! | 14 | ···/˘····/˘··· |
| Can love like ours, that doats on dust, in heavenly bosoms rise?— | 14 | ···/·····/˘/˘· |
| Ah no; the hearts that best have felt its power, the best can tell, | 14 | ·········/···· |
| That peace on earth itself begins, when Love has bid farewell. | 14 | ····˘/˘/·····/ |
| Was man e’er doomed that beauty made | 9 | ····˘·/˘· |
| By mimic art should haunt him? | 7 | ·/˘···· |
| Like Orpheus, I adore a shade, | 9 | ·/˘˘·˘/·· |
| And doat upon a phantom. | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Thou maid that in my inmost thought | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Art fancifully sainted, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Why liv’st thou not—why art thou nought | 8 | ········ |
| But canvass sweetly painted? | 7 | ·/˘/˘/˘ |
| Whose looks seem lifted to the skies, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Too pure for love of mortals— | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| As if they drew angelic eyes | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| To greet thee at heaven’s portals. | 8 | ····/˘/˘ |
| Yet loveliness has here no grace, | 8 | ·/˘˘···· |
| Abstracted or ideal— | 6 | /·˘·˘/ |
| Art ne’er but from a living face | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Drew looks so seeming real. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| What wert thou, maid?—thy life—thy name | 8 | ········ |
| Oblivion hides in mystery; | 9 | ˘/˘˘··/˘˘ |
| Though from thy face my heart could frame | 8 | ········ |
| A long romantic history. | 8 | ··˘/˘/˘˘ |
| Transported to thy time I seem, | 8 | ˘/˘····· |
| Though dust thy coffin covers— | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| And hear the songs, in fancy’s dream, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Of thy devoted lovers. | 7 | ··˘/˘/˘ |
| How witching must have been thy breath— | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| How sweet the living charmer— | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| Whose very semblance after death | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Can make the heart grow warmer! | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Adieu, the charms that vainly move | 8 | ˘/···/˘· |
| My soul in their possession— | 7 | ····˘/˘ |
| That prompt my lips to speak of love, | 8 | ········ |
| Yet rob them of expression. | 7 | ····˘/˘ |
| Yet thee, dear picture, to have praised | 9 | ···/˘···˘ |
| Was but a poet’s duty; | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| And shame to him that ever gazed | 9 | ·····/˘·˘ |
| Impassive on thy beauty. | 7 | ˘/˘··/˘ |
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