(Round me flocked the grave, the gay,
But the rover would not stay;)
“Peerless, wronged, thy votaress,
Cruel, fleeting, Happiness.”
Oft and oftener still his flight;
Longer still he shunned my sight;
Till I left my woodlands dim,
And set forth in quest of him
To the tourney, feast and ball,
(In their turn I peeped at all,)