And ever did he cry, “Alack,
Ohon, oh me!—alas a-day!”
His nights were spent in sleeplessness,
His days in sorrow and despair,
It could not last—this inward strife;
The lover he grew tired of life,
And saunter’d here and there.
At length, ’twas on a moonlight eve,
The skies were blue, the winds were still;
He wander’d from his wretched hut,