Then would I speed away on pinions swift,
And leave my grievous troubles far behind,
Leave these unholy haunts of savage men.920
There, all alone, within some forest wide,
Among the swaying branches would I sit,
And let my grieving spirit weep its fill.
Chorus: The race of men is by the fates controlled,
And none may hope to make his own secure;925
And o'er the ever-shifting ways of life
The day which most we fear shall come to us.