She will beam with brighter glory
When she clasps her own Chili.
Thou wilt go no more to Ave,
Thou wilt go to mass no more;
My Chilina, mother's darling,
This is grief that wounds me sore—
That I now must live so lonely,
Who so blithely lived before.
(A girl, one of her playmates, enters, and takes up the dirge.)
Now arise, arise Chilina!