As I said in the notes to the Bonny Bunch of Roses, the idea of a young man on his deathbed saying goodbye to his mother is dreadfully poignant. This is a happier counterpart: an unborn baby talking (telepathically?) to his mother and looking forward to great things:
Spread the word: tomorrow morn
A future poet shall be born
(I want to quote the whole thing now.)
If you’ve had children, you’ll know that every baby is a tyrant; every baby is a megalomaniac, who wants the world and wants it now. And every baby is bound for glory; every baby is going to sweep the whole world along and prevail in spite of all the universe. This song captures some of that glorious sense of hope and purpose and power – and makes it true.
The picture at the Bandcamp page for this song, incidentally, isn’t Byron; it’s Napoleon II, Emperor of France and King of Rome, modelled as a baby.
Fifty-Two Folk Songs 