Echo

Thou Thou art mute, all but thy sighing—and the tear
Rolls down thy cheek its sad and silent way;
And thou dost turn to mortal men, and say,
"Pour out your sympathy, and sooth me here."
Thou dreaming, hapless creature! learn, that they
Will turn on thee a cold and listless ear;
And thou thy gloomy pilgrimage mayst steer
Through mists and storms and sorrows. They are gay.
However dark thy grief; no sympathy
Is in their breasts. But come, come to me,
Who am a mourner too—and I will mourn
With thee. Hath death distress'd thee? Tell the name
Of thy lost love—I will repeat the same,
And we will weep together o'er her urn.