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All the night in woe
Lyca's parents go
Over valleys deep,
While the deserts weep.
Tired and woe-begone,
Hoarse with making moan,
Arm in arm, seven days
They tread the desert ways.
Seven nights they sleep
Among shadows deep,
And dream they see their child
Starved in desert wild.
Pale thro' pathless ways
The fancied image strays
Famish'd, weeping, weak,
With hollow piteous shriek.
Rising from unrest,
The trembling woman prest
With feet of weary woe;
She could no further go.
In his arms he bore
Her, armed with sorrows sore;
Till before their way
A couching lion lay.
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