III

Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep!

      Yet wherefore? Quench within their burning bed

      Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep

      Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep;

      For he is gone, where all things wise and fair

      Descend;—oh, dream not that the amorous Deep

      Will yet restore him to the vital air;

Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair.