They hear me not my later cadence singing, The souls to whom my earlier lays
I sang; Dispersed the throng, their severed flight now winging; Mute are the
voices that responsive rang. For stranger crowds the Orphean lyre now
stringing, E'en their applause is to my heart a pang; Of old who listened to my
song, glad hearted, If yet they live, now wander widely parted.
A yearning long unfelt, each impulse swaying, To yon calm spirit - realm
uplifts my soul; In faltering cadence, as when Zephyr playing, Fans the
Aeolian harp, my numbers roll; Tear follows tear, my steadfast heart obeying