Wear a smile, in memory but close your eyes and there I'll be
The heaviest burden was yet to face
a sacred grove that bore my disgrace
I brandish the Lyre before the sword,
no god nor defender my pleading heard

Bestowed, with gift of song. My companions flight, a glad omen
The cranes above me
Alas, in foreign lands I die by outlawed hand
unlamented

I opened my heart this is what came out,
be borne to heaven my murder-cry
Deep wounded down he sinks at last
He spoke and died too with the word

Acrocorinth, on mountain high, that burns upon the wanderer's eye.
As he begins, with pious dread. Poseidon's grove of firs to tread.
Naught moves, save a swarm of crane, who guide him on his way

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