What sorrowful sounds do I hear
Move slowly along in the gale?
How solemn they fall on my ear,
As softly they pass thro’ the vale;
Sweet Corydons notes are all o’er,
Now lonely he sleeps in the clay,
His cheeks bloom with roses no more,
Since death called his spirit away.
Sweet woodbines will rise round his feet,
And willows their sorrowing wave;
Young hyacinths freshen and bloom,
While hawthorns encircle his grave;
Each morn when the sun gilds the east,
The green grass bespangl’d with dew,
Hell cast his bright beams on the west,
To charm the sad Carolines view.