Tire lan laire, tire lan la,
etc., etc.
(The students tumultuously go in the next room. Hoffmann remains as if in a stupor.)
The Muse (appearing in an aureole of light).
And I? I, the faithful friend,
Whose hand wiped thy tears?
By whom thy latent sorrow
Exhales in heavenly dreams?
Am I nothing? May the tempest
Of passion pass away in thee!