Woe! woe! for Azla takes her seat

Upon the funeral pile!

Calmly she took her seat,

Calmly the whole terrific pomp survey’d;

As on her lap the while

The lifeless head of Arvalan was laid.

Woe! woe! Nealliny,

The young Nealliny!

They strip her ornaments away,

Bracelet and anklet, ring, and chain, and zone;

Around her neck they leave

The marriage knot alone, . . .

That marriage band, which when

Yon waning moon was young,

Around her virgin neck

With bridal joy was hung.

Then with white flowers, the coronal of death,

Her jetty locks they crown.

O sight of misery!

Yon cannot hear her cries, . . . all other sound