“To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,
“And warms the nations with redoubled ray.
“Enough for me: With joy I see
“The different doom our Fates assign.
“Be thine Despair, and sceptred Care,
“To triumph, and to die, are mine.”
He spoke; and headlong from the mountain’s height
Deep in the roaring tide he plung’d to endless night.
Thomas Gray.