Therefore the Mighty One hath walk’d the Earth

In sorrow and in solitude to-night.

The sound of human mirth

To him is no delight;

He turns away from that ungrateful sight,

Hallowed not now by visitants divine,

And there he bends his melancholy way

Where, in yon full-orb’d Moon’s refulgent light,

The Golden Towers of his old City shine

Above the silver sea. The mighty Chief

There bent his way in grief,

As if sad thoughts indulged would work their own relief.