He has gone to his grave in the strength of youth, While life shone bright before him; And we, who remember his worth and truth, Stand vainly grieving o'er him. ...
Woe, woe is me! for whither can I fly? Where hide me from Mathesis' fearful eye? Where'er I turn the Goddess haunts my path, Like grim Megoera in revengeful wrath: In accents wild, that would awake the dead,...