What make these valleys and these homes? I cry;
Vain objects all; their charm for me has flown:
Rocks, rivers, forests, loved retreats, I sigh,
One being absent, every soul is gone.
What signifies the sun to rise or set?
And what a heaven sombre or serene?
Returning days no joy for me beget,
And still unmoved I gaze on every scene.
Round could I follow the sun's vast career,
My eyes would see but deserts wild and void;