The grave — a living grave — thou meanst it not — To ope my eyes in th’ ever during dark, To breathe a thick and frightful atmosphere, Drawn from my sighs and dampened with my tears! […] Thus, do you bear me to my native isle? […] be thou my god and guide, Be thou the image to fill up my heart, Be thou the spirit leading me to glory, And be my latest hour still cheered by thee, While round me dwells the shout of victory!” […] Held out to my lips a plucked handful of grass! […] And youth is abroad in my green domains.