Lyric Poems Made in Imitation of the Italians. Of which, many are Translations From other Languages ... By Philip Ayres |
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The Nightingale that was drowned.
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 | Lyric Poems |  |
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The Nightingale that was drowned.
Upon a Bough, hung trembling o're a Spring,
Sate Philomel, to respite Grief, and sing.
Tuning such various Notes, there seem'd to nest,
A Choir of little Songsters in her Breast.
Whilst Echo at the close of ev'ry Strain,
Return'd her Musick, Note for Note again.
Sate Philomel, to respite Grief, and sing.
Tuning such various Notes, there seem'd to nest,
A Choir of little Songsters in her Breast.
Whilst Echo at the close of ev'ry Strain,
Return'd her Musick, Note for Note again.
The Jealous Bird, who ne'er had Rival known,
Not thinking these sweet Points were all her own;
So fill'd with Emulation was, that she
Express'd her utmost Art and Harmony;
Till as she eagerly for Conquest try'd,
Her Shadow in the Stream below she spy'd:
Not thinking these sweet Points were all her own;
So fill'd with Emulation was, that she
Express'd her utmost Art and Harmony;
Till as she eagerly for Conquest try'd,
Her Shadow in the Stream below she spy'd:
Then heard the Waters bubbling, but mistook,
And thought the Nymphs were laughing in the Brook;
She then inrag'd, into the Spring did fall,
And in sad Accents thus upbraids them all:
Not Tereus self offer'd so great a Wrong,
Nymphs, take my Life, since you despise my Song.
And thought the Nymphs were laughing in the Brook;
She then inrag'd, into the Spring did fall,
And in sad Accents thus upbraids them all:
Not Tereus self offer'd so great a Wrong,
Nymphs, take my Life, since you despise my Song.
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