That blotted out the day; nor could he more

Discern his luckless Argus. He, who saw

His parent, raising up his drooping head

With parted lips and silent features asks

A father's latest kiss, a father's hand

To close his dying eyes. But soon his sire,

Recovering from his swoon, when ruthless grief

Possessed his spirit, "This short space," he cried,

(Editor：power)