| But lo, the exile beseeches
|
| He who art mournful of voice
|
| The summer’s bright warden to sing
|
| And so the harshness of frost dispel
|
| Yet sorrows announce, bitter of heart
|
| Eroding of life, a hostile fate
|
| A spirit as the sea-flood, wide
|
| A distant, pale sun fades for he
|
| Fallen is now this spleandour all
|
| Joys are broken, passed away
|
| The weaker remain, hold in this world
|
| Wax old and sere, age comes for him
|
| Yet sorrows announce, bitter of heart
|
| Eroding of life, a hostile fate
|
| A spirit as the sea-flood, wide
|
| A distant, pale sun fades for he
|
| Those yearned for he grieves, long of day
|
| And knows his friends of old, in earth decayed
|
| The sons of noble ones
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| Are to the earth
|
| The sons of noble ones
|
| Are to the earth enshrined
|
| May not his body then, when life erodes
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| Pain feel, nor withered hand move
|
| Nor shall his mind race to the dawn
|
| But may absolution come |