Land where the sun forever hides his face
And moon ne'er whitens on thy gloomy brows;
Where Nature, avarous step-dame, scarce allows
A scant provision for the human race;
Oh, what a destiny! were I to trace
(Since I have wandered from my natal boughs)
And end in lone and melancholy drowse
My days of life amid thy snowbound place!
Where never would an amorous shepherd turn
With rose and violet garlands for my tomb
And 'mid his sighs memorial declare:—
«Thy hapless ending doth thy Filis learn,
O Tirsis, and two tears she sheds in gloom
More precious than all Niobe's weeping rare».
Francisco de Figueroa
Translation by Thomas Walsh