LXX.
Within the stillness of his chamber, he
Open'd the flood-gates of his chill despair,
Darkening the midnight with deep misery,
Freighting the moments all with heavy care,
Weeping for her he loved so utterly,
Whose presence only made existence fair,
His pallid face sunk in the outspread palms,
Moist with the dew that her dear loss embalms.