Ah! well-a-day! ah! well-a-day!
My plighted vows I’ll duly pay,
Ye gods, if ye will save
From the foe, and from the grave
My trembling life set free!
Surges high, surges high, sorrow’s many-billowed sea,
And woe towers on woe. Ah me!
Ye Apian hills,[n10] be kind to me,
And throw not back the stranger’s note
But know the Libyan wail!