Thus vents his grief in lonely sighs,
And hot tears from a bosom cold.
But, mourner for thy martyred love,
Could'st thou but know what hearts must feel,
Where no sweet recollections move,
Whose tears a desert fount reveal.
When "in thy arms burd Helen fell,"
She died, sad man, she died for thee,
Nor could the films of death dispel
Her loving eye's sweet radiancy.