Classic Poem

What could there more be done, let any say,
Nor I did to prevent the doleful day?
For when I saw Gall's fatal constellation
Would not permit him in this earthly station
Long to abide, then did I give a trial,
To make impartial fate sustain denial,
By herbarizing, while I proved my skill
On top of Law Tay, and stay Moore-downe hill,
Collecting vegetables in these parts,
By all the skill of Appolonian arts,
If possible 't had been fate to neglect him,
By heavenly skill immortal for to make him;
But sith that Phœbus could not stem the blood
Of Hyacinthus in his swooning mood,
How then should I, a mortal—ah! too shallow
In wit and art!—press to outreach Appollo?—
Far be the thought; I therefore must absent me,
And never more unto the world present me;
But solitary with my gabions stay,
And help them for to mourn till dying day!
Then farewell, cabin! farewell, Gabions all!
Then must I meet in heaven with Master Gall;
And till that time I will set forth his praise
In elegies of woe and mourning lays;
And weeping for his sake, still will I cry—
“Gall, sweetest Gall, what ailed thee to die?”