O Satan, take pity on my long misery! You who give the outlaw that calm and
haughty look That damns the whole multitude around his scaffold. O Satan, take
pity on my long misery! You who know in what nooks of the miserly earth A
jealous God has hidden precious stones, O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You whose clear eye sees the deep arsenals Where the tribe of metals sleeps in
its tomb, O Satan, take pity on my long misery! You whose broad hand conceals
the precipice From the sleep-walker wandering on the building's ledge, O
Satan, take pity on my long misery! You who soften magically the old bones Of
belated drunkards trampled by the horses, O Satan, take pity on my long
misery! You who to console frail mankind in its sufferings Taught us to mix
sulphur and saltpeter, O Satan, take pity on my long misery!