Ye plants, drop tears; ye groves, lamenting moan!
Exhale your life, wan flowers; your blushes deep
In grief, anemonies and roses, steep;
In whimpering murmurs, hyacinth! prolong
The sad, sad woe thy lettered petals keep;
Our minstrel sings no more his friends among—
Sicilian Muses! now begin the doleful song.
Ye nightingales! that ’mid thick leaves set loose
The gushing gurgle of your sorrow, tell
The fountains of Sicilian Arethuse