126
When, Lewti! on my couch I lie,
A dying man for love of thee.
Nay, treacherous Image! leave my mind—
And yet, thou dids't not look unkind.
I saw a vapour in the sky,
Thin, and white, and very high:
I ne'er beheld so thin a cloud.
Perhaps the breezes that can fly
Now below and now above,
Have snatch'd aloft the lawny shroud
Of Lady fair—that died for love.
For maids, as well as youths, have perish'd
From fruitless love too fondly cherish'd.
Nay, treach'rous image! leave my mind—
For Lewti never will be kind.
Hush[errata 1]! my heedless feet from under
Slip the crumbling banks for ever:
Like echoes to a distant thunder,
They plunge into the gentle river.
The river-swans have heard my tread,
And startle from their reedy bed.
O beauteous Birds! methinks ye measure
Your movements to some heavenly tune!
Errata
