There met me on its threshold stone
A mountain hunter, I had known
In childhood, but he knew me not.
Something he spoke of the old cot:
It had seen better days, he said; There rose a fountain once, and there
Full many a fair flower raised its head:
But she who rear'd them was long dead,
And in such follies had no part,
What was there left me now? despair—
A kingdom for a broken—heart.
