Our genius, and our guardian angel be
Till fate unite us in eternity!
But—the bless’d shade to me no hope bequeaths
Till death his faulchion in my bosom sheaths!
Sorrowing, I close my eyes in restless sleep;
Sorrowing, I wake the live-long day to weep.
No future comfort can this world bestow,
’Tis blank and cold, as overwhelm’d with snow.
When dying in my arms, she softly said: