Rachel, ah me! most wretchedly
Mourns, meekest, worthiest woman,
Her husband dear hurled to his bier
By Roman fiends inhuman.
Tremulously now murmurs she:
"Naught's here but naked horror;
Black despond and blind despair,
Mad turmoil, murderous terror!
Free he rose, his hero blows
Gave Rome black cause to rue him;
Ten to one, then they run
Their poisonous poignards through him.
Thus took flight thy tortured sprite,
Dear heart, from my fond seeing!
Now stars on high in stark dawn die,
We too must far be fleeing.
Children dear, I thrill with fear
To hear your hungry crying!
Away, away! one more such day--
And we're too weak for flying."