In majesty soaring,O, hark to our cry
All their metal doors with mighty shock,And the forms of those we loved below
Though weal and woe The voice of the blest,
Something pretty, e'er long
Our dearest daughter there!
The three holy kings have all come here,In number not four, but three they appear;And if a fourth join'd the other three,Increased by one their number would be.
Overcome the voice of wailing and of woeHe might have sought the Lasting, safe at rest
HIS bow and dart bearing,And torch brightly flaring,
All choice morsels I'd dispense with,Table-flesh of priests neglect too,Sooner than renounce my lover,Whom, in Summer having vanquish'd,I in Winter tamed still longer.
When not engaged in trade;I know full well for what she spins,--
Know'st thou the mountain, and its cloudy bridge?The mule can scarcely find the misty ridge;In caverns dwells the dragon's olden brood,The frowning crag obstructs the raging flood.Know'st thou it well?
Am I doom'd myself to seeThus degraded evermore?