Break ye the lance he bore,
And loose his war-steed from its place:
He is no more—
Single voice. No more!
Weep for him mother, sister, bride!
He died, with all his fame—
Single voice. He died!
Aym. (Pointing to a palace, and eagerly speaking to his attendant, who enters.)
Came it not thence? Rudolf, what sounds are these?
Att. The Moslem prince, your captive—he is dead: