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Fair France, adieu! 'T will not be mine again,
    Amid the allurements of thy realm to tread,
Yet with me still, across the Atlantic main,
    Kind thoughts of thee shall wend, by kindness bred,
And at my fireside 't will be sweet to say,
That I have seen thy face and listened to thy lay.

For many a charm thou hast, the heart to win,
    Blest filial love luxuriates in thy clime,
Nor doth the parent by such solace cheered
    Tire of the feast of life before his time,
Nor the white-haired on childhood's gladness frown,
And to the gulph of years unlovingly go down.

Thou hast not blotted out the love of song
    For love of money, nor the enthusiast damped
With the chill dogma, that a hoard of wealth
    Is man's chief end on earth, for thou art stamped
And marked with chivalry of antique mould,
And still dost genius prize, apart from gain of gold.

I do remember me, that thou didst lend
    Thy hand to help my country in her need,
And Lafayette in youthful fervor send
    With us to struggle and for us to bleed;
And still shall glow amid our annal bright
Thy friendship for our sires, who battled for the right.