Classic Poem

One day three girls were casting lots in play,
Which first to Acheron should take her way;
Thrice with their sportive hands they threw, and thrice
To the same hand returned the fateful dice;
The maiden laughed when thus her doom was told:
Alas! that moment from the roof she rolled! —
So sure is Fate whene'er it bringeth bale,
While prayers and vows for bliss must ever fail