Farewell! in tearless agony I part!
Beloved, the pang can cost thee little now;
The thought of triumph dwells within thy heart,
The smile of triumph plays around thy brow.

But oh! when that is gone, when Time hath dimmed,
(If Time must dim) the glories of thine eye;
When the full cup of joy, which now is brimmed,
Drained by thine eager spirit, shall be dry;

When snows have mingled in the locks of youth,
And passion’s power no more thy heart can warm;
Where the cold world shines forth in sorrow’s truth,
And life itself is but a broken charm;

When the bright sun which gilds thy day is set,
A star’s faint lustre may resume its reign;
I am contented that thou should’st forget —
All love thee now, but I will love thee then.

The placid Pug that paces in the Park,
Harnessed in silk and led by leathern lead,
Lives his dull life, and recks not of the Shark
In distant waters. Lapped in sloth and greed,
He fails in strenuous life to make a mark,
The placid Pug that paces in the park.

Round the slow circle of his nights and days
His life revolves in calm monotony.
Not unsusceptible to casual praise,
And mildly moved by the approach of "tea,"
No forked and jagged lightning leaps and plays
Round the slow circle of his nights and days.

He scarcely turns his round protuberant eyes,
To mark the mood of animals or men.
His joy is limited to mild surmise
When a new biscuit swims into his ken.
And when athwart his gaze a Rabbit flies,
He scarcely turns his round protuberant eyes.

And all the while the Shark in Southern seas
Pursues the paths of his pulsating quest,
Though the thermometer at fierce degrees
Might well admonish him to take a rest,
The Pug at home snores in ignoble ease.
(And all the while the Shark in Southern seas!)

If Pugs like Sharks were brought up in the sea
And forced to swim long miles to find their food,
Tutored to front the Hake's hostility,
And beard the Lobster in his dangerous mood,
Would not their lives more sane, more useful be,
If Pugs like Sharks were brought up in the sea?

The placid Pug still paces in the park,
Untouched by thoughts of all that might have been.
Undreaming that he might have "steered his bark"
Through many a stirring sight and stormy scene.
But being born a Pug and not a Shark
The placid Pug still paces in the park.