Orynthia, my beloved, I call in vain!
Orynthia! Orynthia! echo hears and calls again,
A mimic voice repeats the name around,
And with Orynthia all the rocks resound.
Air.
A hermit who dwells in the solitudes cross’d me,
As wayworn and faint up the mountain I press’d;
The aged man paus’d on his staff to accost me,
And proffered his cell as a mansion of rest.
Ah! nay, courteous father, right onward I rove,