He stopped by a stony brook to hear its waters fret.
And as he lay upon the flowery brink,
Close by a wild rock that ascended high,
In dark despondency he ’gan to think
On those bright moments when his hope was nigh
Its rich fruition; and he heaved a sigh
Of doubt and discontent, and wished he ne’er
Had gone to th’ wars again, or chivalry
Been his heart’s choice; but soon he dashed the tear
Away, and sang to his lute these mournful notes—now hear!