He came at night, and on the river’s shore
Beheld her garments; but her faultless form,
Save in his maniac dreams, he saw no more!
And from that night, and from that hour, he lay,
Swelling the stream with little brooks of tears,
Sighing his soul away day after day.
And gazing in its depths in search of her,
He saw his image, which was so like hers,
He grew to be his own sad worshiper.
The gods, who saw him act this piteous part,