The trav'ler stops to hear the distant bell
With day's last noises holy concerts blend.
But these fair tableaux have no charm for me;
My sight indifferent is o'er them led,
Like the fleet shadows that at noon I see:
Suns for the living cannot warm the dead.
From hill to hill in vain I turn my glance,
From south to north, from sunrise to his rest,
I search at every point this vast expanse;
Nowhere doth fortune wait on my behest.