Which for a thousand years had flown
Harmoniously careering on,
Save when the clouds could not restrain
Their burden from the moorland plain;
And see each wave-ring’s sun-reflected beam.
Now, as the waters ’gan again to smooth,
A thousand little bubbles leap
From up the bottom of the deep;
Say, what were these? Oh! globes of air—
The breathings of the dying pair—