With notes accordant to thy skilful tongue,
No more I seek my doric reed to tune;
No more the tender melody prolong,
And chide the envious hours that fleet too soon.
When sinks in ocean’s bed the source of light,
And darkness drear its raven pinions spread;
Chearless and lone I pass the ling’ring night,
With thoughts congenial to its deepest shade.
Unless, perchance, my weary watchful eyes,
Sleep’s balmy charms no longer can refuse;