Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi:
The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea,
    That rolls o’er his corse with a hush,
    His warriors bend over their spears,
    His sisters gaze upward and mourn.
        Weep, weep, for Adondo is dead!
    The sun has gone down in a shower;
    Buried in clouds the face of the moon;
Tears stand in the eyes of the starry skies,
    And stand in the eyes of the flowers;
And streams of tears are the trickling brooks,
        Coursing adown the mountains.—
    Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi:
    The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea.
Fast falls the small rain on its bosom that sobs,—
    Not showers of rain, but the tears of Oro.