"Oh! think of Ariadne's utter trance,

Crazed by the flight of that disloyal traitor,

Who left her gazing on the green expanse,

That swallowed up his track; oh! what could mate her

Even in the cloudy summit of her woe,

When o'er the far sea-brine she saw him go!

"For even now she bows and bends her gaze,

O'er the eternal waste, as if to sum

Its waves by weary thousands; all her days,