Yet to the sad oblations bend thine ear,
That rise in vocal incense o’er thy tomb:
From young Arion first the news received
With terror pale, unhappy Anna read;
With inconsolable distress she grieved,
And from her cheek the rose of beauty fled.
In vain, alas! the gentle virgin wept,
Corrosive anguish nipt her vital bloom;
O’er her soft frame diseases sternly crept,
And gave the lovely victim to the tomb: