See mother earth her offspring's fate bemoan, And nations gaze at scenes before unknown! See the bright beams of heaven's revolving light Involved in sorrows and the veil of night! The goddess comes, she moves divinely fair,

Think not that I have come in quest of common flowers; but rather to bemoan the loss of one whose scent has vanished from the air.

And oft I heard the tender dove
In firry woodlands making moan.