His breast was heavy in the winter rain,
He cast aside his mantle, coat-of-mail,
He tore his garments, from his breast threw off
All—all but sorrow!
Now morning lighted on the city ramparts.
He saw an unknown shadow, stopped, and gazed—
The shadow further moved; with silent steps
It glided o’er the snow, and disappeared
Within the trenches, but a voice was heard
Three times that voice repeated: “Woe, woe, woe!”