LVI + 

Moan hither, all ye syllables of woe, + 

From the deep throat of sad Melpomene! + 

Through bronzed lyre in tragic order go, + 

And touch the strings into a mystery; + 

Sound mournfully upon the winds and low; + 

For simple Isabel is soon to be + 

Among the dead: She withers, like a palm + 

Cut by an Indian for its juicy balm. + 