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Poem	("Phoebus, n'est-il sur la terre?") {OPERA OF "ESMERALDA," ACT IV., 1836.} Phoebus, is there not this side the grave, Power to save Those who're loving? Magic balm That will restore to me my former calm? Is there nothing tearful eye Can e'er dry, or hush the sigh? I pray Heaven day and night, As I lay me down in fright, To retake my life, or give All again for which I'd live! Phoebus, hasten from the shining sphere To me here! Hither hasten, bring me Death; then Love May let our spirits rise, ever-linked, above!
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