Many then wept, not tears, but gall Within their hearts, like drops which fall Wasting the fountain-stone away. And in that dark and evil day Did all desires and thoughts, that claim _725 Men's care--ambition, friendship, fame, Love, hope, though hope was now despair-- Indue the colours of this change, As from the all-surrounding air The earth takes hues obscure and strange, _730 When storm and earthquake linger there. And so, my friend, it then befell To many, most to Lionel, Whose hope was like the life of youth Within him, and when dead, became _735 A spirit of unresting flame, Which goaded him in his distress Over the world's vast wilderness. Three years he left his native land, And on the fourth, when he returned, _740 None knew him: he was stricken deep With some disease of mind, and turned Into aught unlike Lionel. On him, on whom, did he pause in sleep, Serenest smiles were wont to keep, _745 And, did he wake, a winged band Of bright persuasions, which had fed On his sweet lips and liquid eyes, Kept their swift pinions half outspread To do on men his least command; _750 On him, whom once 'twas paradise Even to behold, now misery lay: In his own heart 'twas merciless, To all things else none may express Its innocence and tenderness. _755 'Twas said that he had refuge sought In love from his unquiet thought In distant lands, and been deceived By some strange show; for there were found, Blotted with tears as those relieved _760 By their own words are wont to do, These mournful verses on the ground, By all who read them blotted too. 'How am I changed! my hopes were once like fire: I loved, and I believed that life was love. _765 How am I lost! on wings of swift desire Among Heaven's winds my spirit once did move. I slept, and silver dreams did aye inspire My liquid sleep: I woke, and did approve All nature to my heart, and thought to make _770 A paradise of earth for one sweet sake. 'I love, but I believe in love no more. I feel desire, but hope not. O, from sleep Most vainly must my weary brain implore Its long lost flattery now: I wake to weep, _775 And sit through the long day gnawing the core Of my bitter heart, and, like a miser, keep, Since none in what I feel take pain or pleasure, To my own soul its self-consuming treasure.'