Pachacuti. Cusi Coyllur, remain thou here,
Thy mother's palace is thy home;
Fail not to amuse thyself,
Surrounded by thy maiden friends.
Cusi Coyllur. I should better like a sadder song.
My dearest friends, the last you sang
To me foreshadowed evil things;[1]
You who sang it leave me now.
Two loving birds are in despair,[2]
They moan, they weep, they sigh;
For snow has fallen on the pair,
To hollow tree they fly.
But lo! one dove is left alone
And mourns her cruel fate;
She makes a sad and piteous moan,
Alone without a mate.
She fears her friend is dead and gone—
Confirmed in her belief,
Her sorrow finds relief in song,
And thus she tells her grief.
'Sweet mate! Alas, where art thou now?
I miss thine eyes so bright,
Thy feet upon the tender bough,
Thy breast so pure and bright.'