Ah! who is he by Cynthia’s gleam Discern’d, the statue of distress; Weeping beside the willow’d stream That laves the woodland wilderness? Why talks he to the idle air? Why, listless, at his length reclined, Heaves he the groan of deep despair, Responsive of the midnight wind? Speak, gentle shepherd! tell me why? —Sir! he has lost his wife, they say:— Of what disorder did, she die? —Lord, sir! of none—she ran away.