Down my pale cheeks the tide of sorrow flows;
Dead to all joys that fortune can bestow,
In vain for me her useless bounties flow;
Take back each envied gift, ye pow’rs divine,
And only let me call FIDELIO mine.
“Ah, wretch! what anguish yet thy soul must prove,
Ere thou canst hope to lose thy care in love;
And when FIDELIO meets thy tearful eye,
Pale fear and cold despair his presence fly;
With pensive steps, I sought thy walks again,