Thyrsis

The pendent forest seem'd to nod,
In drowsy fetters bound;
And fairy elves in circles trod
The daisy-painted ground:
When Thyrsis sought the conscious grove,
Of slighted vows to tell,
And thus, to sooth neglected love,
Invok'd sad Philomel:—

"The stars their silver radiance shed,
And silence charms the plain;
But where's my Philomela fled,
To sing her love-lorn strain?
Hither, ah, gentle bird, in haste
Direct thy hovering wing:
The vernal green's a dreary waste,
Till you vouchsafe to sing.

So thrilling sweet thy numbers flow,
(Thy warbling song distrest!)
The tear that tells the lover's woe
Falls cold upon my breast.
To hear sad Philomel complain,
Will soften my despair;
Then quickly swell the melting strain,
And sooth a lover's care."

Give up all hopes, unhappy swain,
A listening sage reply'd,
For what can constancy obtain,
From unrelenting pride?
The shepherd droop'd—the tyrant, Death,
Had seiz'd his trembling frame;
He bow'd, and with departing breath
Pronounc'd Zaphira's name.