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ON THE DEATH OF LESBIA'S SPARROW.
Lugete, o Veneres, Cupidines que.
Ye cupids and ye am'rous train,
In melting notes of woe complain;
And all who feel a maiden's grief,
Let not your sorrow find relief—
My Lesbia's sparrow's dead and gone!
The sparrow she so doated on;
Which dear she lov'd as her own eye,
Whose death will claim her saddest sigh;
For he bewitch'd with artless mood,
And Lesbia's soft affection woo'd;
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As child can tell a parent's face;
Within her breast he fondly grew,
Ne'er from its warm enclosure flew;
But hopp'd and flutter'd here and there,
Sole chirping to his mistress dear;
Alas! he's gone to that dark way,
Whence none can e'er return they say:
Curse on ye drear and deathy shades,
Whose gloom each beauteous gift pervades!
The darling bird ye have remov'd,
The bird that was so dearly lov'd—
Sweet pet! e'er since thou hast been dead,
My Lesbia's pretty eyes are red.
Sept. 8th, 1825.
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