My plaintive shade he to the Manes bore.
Then, since my soul can here no more remain,
A part of thine, sweet life, that loss supplies!
But what this feeble fabric must sustain,
If of thy soul that part its aid denies!
And much I fear; for, struggling to be free,
Oft from its new abode it fain would roam;
Oft seeks, impatient to return to thee,
Some secret pass to gain its native home.
Unless thy fostering breath retards its flight,