The insolent lust is fanning!

Madly he hugs the frenzied plan

With perverse heart unbending,

Hot-spurred, till Ruin seize the man,

Too late to think of mending.

STROPHE VI.

Ah! well-a-day! ah! well-a-day![n9]

Thus sadly I hymn the sorrowful lay,

With a shrill-voiced cry,

With a sorrow-streaming eye,