Ah! who is he by Cynthia's gleam
Discern'd, the statue of distress:
Weeping beside the willow'd stream
That bathes the woodland wilderness?
Why talks he to the idle air?
Why, listless, at his length reclin'd,
Heaves he the groan of deep despair,
Responsive to 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.