Why hast thou left me on this desert isle, save by ourselves, untrod?
Immortal Jove, divine Progenitor,
Exert thy power; reverse his sails:—O, King
Of Gods and Men, why does the cup of love conceal the scorpion’s sting?
Like ghastly ghosts, with veiled and weeping orbs,
My hopes depart; cadaverous Despair
Sits glaring at me with his wolfy eyes: bid the foul thing forbear!
On yester-eve, at this forgotten isle —
Forgotten almost of gods—our storm-beat bark
Let fall its ponderous flakes; night, like a falcon, swooped, and all was dark.