Classic Poem

T H ough you melodiously condole my Grief,
And in soft Accents send a sweet Relief:
The Nymphs you mention were describ'd in vain,
They neither heard my Sighs, nor sooth'd my Pain.
Febrilla's direful Name, each Virgin fear'd,
And Tyrant like, I'm less belov'd, than fear'd:
In pensive Solitude I silent mourn,
And Friends around, to shapeless Echo's turn:
Not one superiour Object now appears,
But Abigails are all my Visiters.
So Æsop's Lyon sate in's Cave alone,
And not one Beast approach'd the sickly Throne,
Yet all by Message make their Kindness known.