In torrents, straight against my mournful heart
Aiming in maddened frenzy, let the power
Of fiercest rage direct the cruel dart;
For, lo, of happiness a plenteous store
I gain, when I conceal the grievous smart;
Ashes and dust though stricken breast become,
Rich is the guerdon of my noble doom.
Eternal silence on my wearied tongue
The law of loyal friendship will impose,
By whose unequalled virtue grows less strong