To be like a fish, Brisk and quick, is my wish; If thou cam'st with thy line. Thou wouldst soon make me thine. To be like a fish, Brisk and quick, is my wish.
Who will hear me? Whom shall I lament to? Who would pity me that heard my sorrows? Ah, the lip that erst so many raptures Used to taste, and used to give responsive, Now is cloven, and it pains me sorely;...
See the rock-born stream! Like the gleam Of a star so bright Kindly spirits High above the clouds Nourished him while youthful In the copse between the cliffs.