Heptatonic aeolian, mode 4 a + b (I II 3 IV V 6 7)
Hail! ye sighing sons of sorrow,
Learn from me your certain doom;
Learn from me your fate tomorrow,
Dead perhaps laid in your tomb.
See all nature fading,
dying, silent all things seem to pine;
Life from vegetation flying,
Brings to mind the mould’ring vine!