1   Oh, Mariamne! now for thee      The heart of which thou bled’st 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! could’st thou—thou would’st pardon now,      Though heaven were to my prayer unheeding. 2   And is she dead?—and did they dare      Obey my phrensy’s jealous raving?   My wrath but doom’d my own despair:      The sword that smote her’s 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. 3   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 earn’d those tortures well,      Which unconsumed are still consuming!