3.
Woe to the heart of Aquitaine!
Woe to the men she bred!
When, sheathed in steel, with fierce disdain,
He loosed a stream in every vein,
And dyed her ramparts red.
4.
But, freed from war, he bound his brow
With myrtle leaves again,
To Venus paid a votary's vow,
And hymned her birth, assuming now
The falchion, now the pen.
5.
Sweet as the swan, when death was nigh,
On Danube's willowed banks,
He held the waters roaring by,
With magic of his melody,
Congealed in crystal ranks.
6.
Long, long that tune the stream shall keep,
And whisper as it flows;
Let Love too tell in murmurs deep
The noble words she heard him weep,
For well those words she knows.
7.