reeds waving at his feet. Absorbed by dark thoughts, he sang, in the
musical language of his country, these sad words:--

"O window, that wert used to shine in the night like an open eye, how
dark thou art! Alas, alas! my poor sister is ill.

"Her mother, all in tears, stoops towards me and says, 'Thy poor sister
is dead and buried.'

"Jesus! Jesus! Have pity on me! You stab me to the heart.

"Tell me, good neighbours, how it happened; repeat to me her last words.

"She had a burning thirst, and refused to drink because thou wast not
there to give her water from thy hand.

"Oh, my sister! Oh, my sister!

"She refused her mother's kiss, because thou wast not there to embrace
her.

"Oh, my sister! Oh, my sister!

"She wept until her last breath, because thou wast not there to dry her
tears.

"Oh, my sister! Oh, my sister!

"We placed on her brow her wreath of orangeflowers, we covered her with a
veil as white as snow; we laid her gently in her coffin.