Hung round the crags of Pindus, where they wore
Their crowning snows. Upon a rock he sprung,
The unbeloved one, for his home to gaze
Through the wild laurels back; but then a light
Broke on the stern proud sadness of his eye,
A sudden quivering light, and from his lips
A burst of passionate song.
“Farewell, farewell!
I hear thee, O thou rushing stream!—thou’rt from my native dell,
Thou’rt bearing thence a mournful sound—a murmur of farewell!