That withers away, to let others succeed;
So the multitude comes, even those we behold,
To repeat every tale that has often been told.
For we are same that our fathers have been;
We see the same sights our fathers have seen,—
We drink the same streams, and see the same sun,
And run the same course our fathers have run.
They loved, but the story we cannot unfold;
They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold;