Poems on Several Occasions ... To which is added, the Plague of Wealth, Occasion'd By the Author's receiving fifty Pounds from his Excellency the Lord Carteret, for the foremention'd Ode. With several Poems not in the Dublin Edition. By Matthew Pilkington. Revised by the Reverend Dr. Swift |
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A Pastoral
ELEGY, on the Death of a Lady's Canary-Bird.
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| XXXIV. |
 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
89
A Pastoral ELEGY, on the Death of a Lady's Canary-Bird.
Passer mortuus est meæ Puellæ,
Passer deliciæ meæ Puellæ,
Quem plus illa oculis suis amabat.
Catul.
Passer deliciæ meæ Puellæ,
Quem plus illa oculis suis amabat.
Catul.
Now the grey Dawn had scarce o'ercome the Night,
And o'er the Welkin cast a doubtful Light,
The paler Stars proclaim'd the Morn's Advance,
And faintly glimmer'd thro' the smooth Expanse;
When Thenot, simple Swain! with Grief opprest,
For Vireo dead, neglects his balmy Rest,
Flies to the Beach, unmindful of his Flock,
There lies complaining on the chilling Rock,
His Tears the Swellings of the Waves encrease,
While Grief, with pale Concern, imprints his Face.
And o'er the Welkin cast a doubtful Light,
The paler Stars proclaim'd the Morn's Advance,
And faintly glimmer'd thro' the smooth Expanse;
When Thenot, simple Swain! with Grief opprest,
For Vireo dead, neglects his balmy Rest,
90
There lies complaining on the chilling Rock,
His Tears the Swellings of the Waves encrease,
While Grief, with pale Concern, imprints his Face.
Be hush'd my Sighs—, ye Tears, more softly flow,
Be still ye Waves—, ye Winds forget to blow;
Let Echo slumber in the dreary Vale,
And Nature, silent, hear the sad'ning Tale—:
Ah—! no! my Sighs, my fiercest Griefs arise—,
Let ceaseless Sorrows overflow my Eyes,
Ye Winds, the Air with hollow Murmurs fill,
Let Echo spread my Woes from Hill to Hill,
With greater Ease our Load of Grief we bear,
When other Part'ners in our Sorrow share.
Be still ye Waves—, ye Winds forget to blow;
Let Echo slumber in the dreary Vale,
And Nature, silent, hear the sad'ning Tale—:
Ah—! no! my Sighs, my fiercest Griefs arise—,
Let ceaseless Sorrows overflow my Eyes,
Ye Winds, the Air with hollow Murmurs fill,
Let Echo spread my Woes from Hill to Hill,
With greater Ease our Load of Grief we bear,
When other Part'ners in our Sorrow share.
91
Oft, to my Eyes his airy Form appears,
And oft his Voice soft warbles in my Ears;
His quiv'ring Pinions, and his swelling Throat
Now swim before my Sight—: Hark! that's his Note!
'Tis Fancy all—, and now that Fancy dies,
Nor Joy, nor Vireo glads my tearful Eyes.
And oft his Voice soft warbles in my Ears;
His quiv'ring Pinions, and his swelling Throat
Now swim before my Sight—: Hark! that's his Note!
'Tis Fancy all—, and now that Fancy dies,
Nor Joy, nor Vireo glads my tearful Eyes.
His Plumes the Beauties of the King-cup show,
Mix'd with the Whiteness of descending Snow,
His glossy Wings delightfully unfold,
Like Ev'ning Clouds bestreak'd with liquid Gold;
Smooth on his Breast the downy Feathers lay,
No Down so smooth, no Fleece so soft as they:
But what avails that Eye-enchanting Store?
His Plumes, his Voice, his Beauties are no more.
Mix'd with the Whiteness of descending Snow,
His glossy Wings delightfully unfold,
Like Ev'ning Clouds bestreak'd with liquid Gold;
Smooth on his Breast the downy Feathers lay,
No Down so smooth, no Fleece so soft as they:
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His Plumes, his Voice, his Beauties are no more.
More sweet, more various were his pleasing Strains,
Than rising Flow'rs that deck untrodden Plains:
More cheering he than Breath of infant Spring,
He'd sing so sweet—, how sweetly wou'd he sing!
But now, ah see! the fav'rite Warbler dead!
See! down his Breast now drops the speckled Head;
All stiff he lies the dampy Earth along,
His little Bosom swells no more with Song,
No more to melting Airs attunes his Voice,
To charm the Vales, or bid the Groves rejoice,
Fled are the Joys we felt whene'er he sung,
And ev'ry Sweet that dwelt upon his Tongue.
Than rising Flow'rs that deck untrodden Plains:
More cheering he than Breath of infant Spring,
He'd sing so sweet—, how sweetly wou'd he sing!
But now, ah see! the fav'rite Warbler dead!
See! down his Breast now drops the speckled Head;
All stiff he lies the dampy Earth along,
His little Bosom swells no more with Song,
No more to melting Airs attunes his Voice,
To charm the Vales, or bid the Groves rejoice,
Fled are the Joys we felt whene'er he sung,
And ev'ry Sweet that dwelt upon his Tongue.
93
Ye blithsome Elves, (if Elves regard our Pain,)
Who tread the Circles of the grassy Plain,
Who print the Slatt'ren's Arm with Pinches blue,
And Silver drop in cleanly Damsel's Shoe:
Who ride the whirling Winds by Swains unseen,
And Gambol mirthful on the daisy'd Green:
Where was your boasted Care, when Vireo lay
Devoid of Strength, and panting Life away?
Oh! had ye sav'd that Life which now is flown,
No Sighs this Breast, no Tears these Eyes had known.
Who tread the Circles of the grassy Plain,
Who print the Slatt'ren's Arm with Pinches blue,
And Silver drop in cleanly Damsel's Shoe:
Who ride the whirling Winds by Swains unseen,
And Gambol mirthful on the daisy'd Green:
Where was your boasted Care, when Vireo lay
Devoid of Strength, and panting Life away?
Oh! had ye sav'd that Life which now is flown,
No Sighs this Breast, no Tears these Eyes had known.
It chanc'd, while Thenot plain'd his piteous Case,
And many a trickling Tear bedew'd his Face,
Stretch'd out at length within a Cowslip, lay
Fatigu'd with Moon-light Dance, and wanton Play,
A Fairy small: He turns his list'ning Ears
To hear the Tale, and pities while he hears:
Himself unseen, his slender Voice he rais'd,
And thus, with Story meet, the Shepherd eas'd.
And many a trickling Tear bedew'd his Face,
Stretch'd out at length within a Cowslip, lay
Fatigu'd with Moon-light Dance, and wanton Play,
94
To hear the Tale, and pities while he hears:
Himself unseen, his slender Voice he rais'd,
And thus, with Story meet, the Shepherd eas'd.
In vain your Sighs, your Tears in vain are shed,
Nor Tears, nor Sighs recal the breathless Dead:
Ah! witless Lad! thou causeless art a-griev'd,
Had Vireo Life deserv'd, he still had liv'd:
The fatal Cause by which the Warbler dy'd,
Wrong dost thou ween, that Doubt must I decide.
Nor Tears, nor Sighs recal the breathless Dead:
Ah! witless Lad! thou causeless art a-griev'd,
Had Vireo Life deserv'd, he still had liv'd:
The fatal Cause by which the Warbler dy'd,
Wrong dost thou ween, that Doubt must I decide.
One Ev'ning mild as fair Lætitia sung,
And pour'd melodious Sweetness from her Tongue,
Silent the wild Creation stood around,
Intent to hear, and gladden'd with the Sound:
There Vireo came, and while his Ear he turn'd
To catch her Notes, his Heart with Envy burn'd,
With jealous Rage his tender Bosom swell'd,
To hear his Song surpass'd, his Voice excell'd,
No more he cheerful chirps, no more he sings,
But droops his languid Head, and hangs his Wings,
In secret pin'd with unsuspected Woes,
And breath'd out Life before the Morn arose.
And pour'd melodious Sweetness from her Tongue,
Silent the wild Creation stood around,
Intent to hear, and gladden'd with the Sound:
95
To catch her Notes, his Heart with Envy burn'd,
With jealous Rage his tender Bosom swell'd,
To hear his Song surpass'd, his Voice excell'd,
No more he cheerful chirps, no more he sings,
But droops his languid Head, and hangs his Wings,
In secret pin'd with unsuspected Woes,
And breath'd out Life before the Morn arose.
Here ceas'd the Elve; and now the rising Day
Along the Mountain shot a slanting Ray,
Now Marian stretch'd her Linen o'er the Line,
And Susan trudg'd to milk the lowing Kine,
The Swain, reliev'd, forsook the lonely Rock,
And hied to seek his long-neglected Flock.
Along the Mountain shot a slanting Ray,
Now Marian stretch'd her Linen o'er the Line,
And Susan trudg'd to milk the lowing Kine,
The Swain, reliev'd, forsook the lonely Rock,
And hied to seek his long-neglected Flock.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |