O’er thy birthplace and thy tomb
Flutter, little mortal, still!
Though beside thy gladdest hour,
Fate’s destroying mandates lower—
Length of life but lengthens ill.
Confine thy offspring to the stream,
That when new summer suns shall gleam,
They, too, may quit their watery cell;
Then die! I see each weary limb
Declines to fly, declines to swim: