On famed Cythæron's sacred head,
And train'd to music, wine, and song,
'Midst orgies of the frantic throng,
When beauteous Galatea died,
His flute and thyrsus cast aside;
And wand'ring to thy pensive coast,
Sad Melos! where his love was lost,
Each night through the responsive air
Thy echoes witness'd his despair:
Still, still his plaintive harp was heard,