David of the White Rock

Life and its follies are fading away,

Love hath departed, why then should I stay?

Cold is my pale cheek and furrowed with care,

Dim is my eyesight, and snow-white my hair.

Near me, in silence, my harp lies unstrung,

Weak are my fingers, and falt'ring my tongue!

Tuneful companion, we parted must be;

Thou canst no longer bring comfort to me.

Yet ere we sever, thy master would fain

Swanlike expire in a last dying strain;

And when above him the cypress bough wave,

Spirits shall murmur it over his grave.