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Alas that profit has fallen from our hands
And that by the hands of fate many livers are bleeding
No one comes from the other world that we may ask of him
How the affairs of the travelers of the world are

 

F4 64

Strange, is it not ? that of the myriads who
Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through,
Not one returns to tell us of the Road,
Which to discover we must travel too.

Nic 125

Ô regret! le capital (de la vie) nous échappe des mains. Hélas! bien des cœurs ont été par la mort noyés dans le sang, et personne ne revient de l'autre monde pour que je puisse lui demander des nouvelles des voyageurs partis!

P 362

Alack, for life's stock still to ruin and nought goes
And many a heart at doom's hand blood-y-fraught goes!
From yonder none cometh of whom I may question
How't with those who that land of the secret have sought goes.

Th 199

Alas! that riches from our hands have fled,
And blood of many a heart Death's hand hath shed.
And from that world comes none that I may ask
“How fare the travelers who have thither sped?"

Wh 152

Ah! wealth takes wings, and leaves our hands all bare,
And death's rough hands delight our hearts to tear;
And from the nether world none e'er escapes,
To bring us news of the poor pilgrims there.

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