Stand to our immortality confessed.
Thou sigh’st to know too much for one of earth:
But as the music on the zephyrs flung,
As the full cadence on thy lips that hung,
Dies in the self-same span that saw its birth.
As thy high hopes have ended in despair,
Be too thy rashness tossed to empty air.
“We pardon thee, for the aerial train,
Have ever lov’d the poet’s thrilling strain;
Whether it swells the breezes from afar,