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One miser thirst pervades the whole, Unheedful of another's care; One narrow selfishness of soul That blunts each softer passion there.— But sleep. my harp! for ever rest: The sun is trembling in the west;And ere that sun illumes to-morrow's sky,Cold on the winds of morn shall breathe my latest sigh."
In vain the tears of pity flow For him who pour'd the pensive lay; From toil escap'd, and want, and woe, In yon bright heav'n's eternal day Orlando lives;—by the rude stone His once lov'd harp is careless thrown;Yet oft responsive, as the breezes fly,The trembling strings awake their mournful melody.
And oft the sea-boy's list'ning ear Doth catch the wild and plaintive sound, As sails the lonely vessel near, At midnight, when the waves around Are hush'd, and Cynthia's placid beam Slumbers along the level stream; Upward he looks with wond'ring eye, And thinks some spirit of the skySteals o'er the tranquil bosom of the deep,And sings their solemn dirge that in the ocean sleep.
