That holds Nuleeni yet below,
Shall be for ever snapped in twain—
And then, adieu to mortal woe!
Before the pile she bends her brow,
With all affections she must part,
And those that cling to earth must now
At once be severed from her heart.—
And from her head the wreath she takes,
Seven circuits round the pile she makes,
And now with baleful brand on fire
She slowly mounts the dreadful pyre!