[At the repetition of this line Rogero clanks his chains in cadence.]
Barbs! barbs! alas! how swift you flew,
Her neat post-waggon trotting in!
Ye bore Matilda from my view;
Forlorn I languish'd at the U-
-niversity of Gottingen—
-niversity of Gottingen.
This faded form! this pallid hue!
This blood my veins is clotting in!
My years are many—They were few