Afar they floated on the zephyr’s wing:
No triumph now would Coh to Mayas bring.
Disconsolate, the Queen in anguish cried:
“Would that I had with my beloved died!
Why tarry here? My soul entreats release!
I too will sleep on Death’s soft couch of peace.”
From thought so weak, by Nicté she was freed
And tottering reason saved from foolish deed.
Then came the date of Mu, the thirteenth day,
When hearts of noble men were laid away.