Still would her touch the strain prolong,
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She call’d on Echo still through all the song;
And where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close,
And Hope enchanted smil’d, and wav’d her golden hair.
And longer had she sung,—but, with a frown,
Revenge impatient rose,
He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down,
And, with a withering look,