Oh, Mariamne! Now for thee
  The heart for which thou bledst is bleeding;
Revenge is lost in agony,
  And wild remorse to rage succeeding.
Oh, Mariamne! Where art thou?
  Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading.
Ah, couldst thou, thou wouldst pardon now,
  Though heaven were to my prayer unheeding.

And is she dead? And did they dare
  Obey my frenzy's jealous raving?
My wrath but doomed my own despair;
  The sword that smote her is o'er me waving.
But thou art cold, my murdered love!
  And this dark heart is vainly craving
For her who soars alone above
  And leaves my soul unworthy saving.

She's gone, who shared my diadem;
  She sunk, with her my joys entombing.
I swept that flower from Judah's stem,
  Whose leaves for me alone were blooming.
And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell,
  This bosom's desolation dooming;
And I have earned those tortures well,
  Which unconsumed are still consuming!