III.

Now Echo answers lone from cliff and brake, Where we in springtime sauntering loved to go,— Or at the mossy bank beyond the lake, On its green plushes oft ourselves did throw: There from the sparkling wave our thirst to slake, Dipped in the spring that bubbled up below, Our hands for cups, and did with glee partake. Next to the Hermit’s cell our way we make, Where sprightly talk doth hold the morning late; Deserted now: ah, Hylas, too, is gone! Hylas, dear Ion’s friend and mine,—I all alone, Alone am left by unrelenting fate,— Vanished my loved ones all,—the good, the great,— Why am I spared? why left disconsolate?