On solid ice their thirsty beaks are ringing,
Nor on the wintry shore
Fresh water laves their plumes, nor bubbling fount is springing.
O thou dread Monarch, who to sea and coast
Their being gave,
And led'st, as shadowy rumor tells, a host,
Through the deep wave!
Behold these wretched birds with pitying eyes,
Their lingering years in joyless slavery spending,
In thy great might arise,