What dream is this, alas!

O, if but for my sake,

Wake, darling; let this pass:

Ida, dear Ida, wake!

I cannot bear to see those tears:

Thy sad tones hurt my ears.

Ida.

Will he forget me, then,

When I am gone away?

'Twere best: to give him pain,

Let not my memory stay.

But O, even there, in Hades dim,

I would remember him.

Raymond.

Thou griev'st thyself in vain:

Sweet love, be comforted.

Come, leave this world of rain;

To the bright hearth turn thy head.

We have our fireside still, the same:

How cheerful is the flame!

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