On a wide waste, without a tree,
The unfrequent traveller there might see
The once great Glaucus’ son.
Far from the haunts and from the tread
Of men, a joyless life he led;
On folly’s fruitage there he fed,
Dejected and alone;
Even as a witless boy at school,
Would sit and gaze into a pool
The blank Bellerophon;