I’ve sat in lone captivity;
Listening the wind, and River’s moan,
Wakening my wild harp’s solemn tone,
And longing to be free.
Blondel! my heart seems [folio 8] cold, and dead;
My soul, has lost its ancient might;
The sun of chivalry is fled
And dark despair’s, unholy night
Above me closes still and deep;
While wearily each lapsing day