Classic Poem

YE shepherds, since DAMON is dead,
Our DAMON that sweetly could sing;
Since nature's glad songster is fled,
Accept the sad tribute I bring.

The soft trilling sisters lament,
They grieve on the Helicon shore;
And — thus — whilst their anguish they vent,
Exclaim " Is our DAMON no more " ?

The fates — thus they chide as they weep,
" Why spun ye his life-time so fast?
" Or why, the choice few that we'd keep,
" To kill are ye ever in haste " ?

For DAMON [fond shepherd] they lov'd,
Who piped so sweet on the plains;
The meads and the lawns he approv'd;
Where now but dull languidness reigns.

The nymphs that were wonted on DEE,
To listen his song and be glad;
That danc'd to his metre with glee,
Are hypocondrical and sad.

Consumed are all the gay flow'rs,
At the milking, no singing is heard;
The birds are all mute in the bow'rs,
And nature declines for her BARD.

How mild, yet how jocound his lays,
DIARIA would call him her own;
He dropt, but encircled with bays,
He fell, but enwrapt with renown.

Ye swains, bring me hither his FLUTE,
The FLUTE that my DAMON would use;
And let me [for none it will suit]
Now break it, or give it his muse.

And, each bring his straw-pipe along,
The straw-pipe that PASTORA gave;
We'll commemorate him in a song,
We'll join in a dirge by his grave.