Sweet waters! I must die.
“Will ye not send one tone
Of sorrow through the pines?—one murmur low?
Shall not the green leaves from your voices know
That I, your child, am gone?
“No! ever glad and free
Ye have no sounds a tale of death to tell:
Waves, joyous waves! flow on, and fare ye well?
Ye will not mourn for me.
“But thou, sweet boon! too late