Now lone and pathless, overflows
With bitter plaint his wearied heart;
Trembling beneath his lute he goes,
And vanquished by a deeper smart.
There is to me a mournful lot,
Deserted quite I wander here;--
Delight and peace to all I brought,
But yet to share them none are near.
To human life, and everything
That mortals have, I lent a bliss;