Anyone willing to correct the translation of this poem?

I would like some corrections on this most likely abysmal translation. (I'm at the beginning of learning french and am not a native english speaker.)

ORIGINAL:  http://poesie.webnet.fr/lesgrandsclassiques/poemes/alphonse_de_lama...

Yes, I have left this quite port,

This port that calls for a long time

Where far away from the troubles of the city

In a soft and easy slumber,

Without sound my days have sunk

I have left this dark valley

The rustic roof of a friend

Far from the groves of Bissy

My muse regretfully exiled

Departs sad and sorry,

For the stay that she had chosen.

We will no longer be going to the meadows,

At the first ray of the morning

Astray with uncertain step,

Our poetic dreams.

We will no longer see the sun,

The high peaks of Italy

The cause of her red sun

Like the father of life

Go to the slumbering nature,

The first flash of the awakening. 

 We will no longer taste you shadow,

Ancient pines, the honor of these woods,

You will no longer hear our secrets,

In this dark and humid cave,

We will no longer seek the costs,

And the evening upon the rustic temple,

When the melancholic bell,

Calls for all the hamlet,

We will no longer go to prayer,

We shall bend upon the simple rock

That covers an old tomb.

Goodbye valleys, farewell groves,

Azure lake, savage rocks,

Dense forests stay quite.

Stay happy and wise,

I have left you forever.

 

Alpha

Already my fleeting boat,

At the breath of deceptive zephyrs,

Is moving away regretfully to the shore,

-have no idea-

I face new shores,

And undoubtedly new dangers,

My frail boat is devoted,

At the prime of its life,

On what cliffs, on what shores

 Have I not yet fallen?

But with a reckless complaint,

Why harsh destiny?

Barley in the middle of the path,

Is it necessary to look back?

My lips have barely tasted,

The bitter chalice of life,

I have rejected it.

But the cruelty it carries,

We must drink to the dregs.

When my feet have crossed,

Two thirds of our path,

Under the weight of a lifetime,

When my hair will have whitened,

I will return to now old Bissy,

Visit the lone roof,

Where the havens keep my friend,

In some deep retirement,

Under the trees he had planted,

We will see, flowing like a wave,

The end of our turbulent days,

There without fear and without hope,

On our stormy existence,

Brought back by memories,

Casting our gaze aback

We will measure the life,

That has hid.

 

As an aging pilot,

From the top of a lonely rock,

The evening sitting quietly,

Let it wander of

And still contemplate the extent

Of the seas it once had roamed.