Lucia,[39] Narcissa fair, Philander, gone!
The grave, like fabled Cerberus, has oped
A triple mouth; and, in an awful voice, 1260
Loud calls my soul, and utters all I sing.
How the world falls to pieces round about us,
And leaves us in a ruin of our joy!
What says this transportation of my friends?
It bids me love the place where now they dwell,
And scorn this wretched spot, they leave so poor.
Eternity’s vast ocean lies before thee;