Swans

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T.

My Hopes are loft, my Joys are fled,
Alas! I weep Columbo dead :

Come, all ye winged Lovers, come,
Drop Pinks and Daifies on his Tomb :
Sing Philomel his Funeral Verse,

Ye pious Redbreafts deck his Herfe :
Fair Swains extend your dying Throats,
Columbo's Death requires your Notes:
For Him, my Friends, for Him I moan,
My dear Columbo, dead and gone.

Stretch'd on the Bier Columbo lies,
Pale are his Cheeks, and clos'd his Eyes;
Those Cheeks, where Beauty smiling lay ;
Those Eyes where Love was us'd to play :
Ah cruel Fate, alas! how foon
That Beauty and those Joys are flown!

Columbo is no more, ye Floods,
Bear the fad Sound to distant Woods;
The Sound let Echo's Voice restore,
And fay, Columbo is no more.

Ye Floods, ye Woods, ye Echo's, moan
My dear Columbo, dead and gone.

The Dryads all forfook the Wood,
And mournful Nayids round me ftood,
The tripping Fawns and Fairies came,
All conscious of our mutual Flame
To figh for him, with me to moan,
My dear Columbo, dead and gone.

Venus difdain'd not to appear
To lend my Grief a Friendly Ear;

But

S.

But what avails her Kindness now?
She ne'er shall hear my Second Vow:
The Loves that round their Mother flew,
Did in her Face her Sorrows view.

Their drooping Wings they penfive hung,
Their Arrows broke, their Bows unftrung;
They heard attentive what I said,

And wept with me, Columbo dead :
For Him I figh, for Him I moan,
My dear Columbo, dead and gone.

"Tis ours to weep, great Venus faid,
'Tis JOVE's alone to be obey'd:
Nor Birds, nor Goddesses can move
The juft Behefts of Fatal JOVE;
I saw thy Mate with fad Regret,
And curs'd the Fowler's cruel Net :
Ah, dear Columbo, how he fell,
Whom Turturella lov'd fo well!

I saw him bleeding on the Ground,

The Sight tore up my ancient Wound ;
And whilft you wept, alas, I cry'd,

Columbo and Adonis dy'd.

Weep all ye Streams, ye Mountains groan,

I mourn Columbo, dead and gone ;
Still let my tender Grief complain,

Nor Day, nor Night that Grief restrain,
I said, and Venus ftill reply'd,

Columbo and Adonis dy'd.

Poor Turturella, hard thy Case,
And just thy Tears, alas, alas!

T. And

T.

S.

S.

T.

S.

[4]

And haft thou lov'd, and canft thou hear

With piteous Heart a Lover's Care?
Come then, with Me thy Sorrows joyn,
And ease my Woes by telling thine :
For thou, poor Bird, perhaps may'st moan
Some Pascerella dead and done.

Dame Turtle, this runs foft in Rhime,
But neither fuits the Place nor Time;
That Fowler's Hand, whole cruel Care
For dear Columbo fet the Snare,
The Snare again for thee may set;
Two Birds may perifh in one Net.
Thou fhould't avoid this cruel Field,
And Sorrow fhou'd to Prudence yield.
'Tis fad to dye. T. It may be so;
'Tis fadder yet to live in Woe.

When Widows ufe this canting Strain,
They seem refolv'd to wed again.

When Widdowers would this Truth difprove,
They never tafted real Love.

Love is foft Joy and gentle Strife,

His Efforts all depend on Life:

When he has thrown two Golden Darts,
And ftruck the Lovers mutual Hearts;
Of his black Shafts let Death fend One
Alas! The pleasing Game is done,
Ill is the poor Survivor sped,

A Corps feels mighty cold in Bed.

Venus faid right, nor Tears can move,
Nor Plaints revoke the Will of JOVE.

All must obey the general Doom,
Down from Alcides to Tom Thumb
Grim Pluto will not be withstood
By Force or Craft; tall Robinhood
As well as Little John is dead.
(You see how deeply I am read )

With Fate's lean Tipftaff none can dodge,
He'll find you out where e'er you lodge.
Ajax to fhun his general Pow'r

In vain abfconded in a Flower.

An idle Scene Tythonus acted,

When to a Grafhopper contracted:

1

Death ftruck them in those Shapes again,
As once he did when they were Men.
For Reptils perish, Plants decay,

Flesh is but Grafs, Grafs turns to Hay,
And Hay to Dung, and Dung to Clay.
Thus Heads extreamly nice discover,

That Folks may dye fome ten Times over;
But oft by too refin'd a Touch

To prove Things plain they prove too much.
What e'er Pythagoras may fay,

(For each you know will have his Way).

With great Submiffion I pronounce,

That People dye no more than once:
But once is fure, and Death is common
To Bird and Man including Woman.
From the Spread Eagle to the Wren,
Alas! no Mortal Fowl knows when ;
All that wear Feathers firft or laft,
Must one Day perch on Charon's Mast

C

Muft

T.

S.

[6]

Muft lye beneath the Cyprefs Shade,
Where Strada's Nightingale was laid.
Those Fowl who feem alive to fit.
Affembl❜d by Dan Chaufer's Wit,

In Profe have flept Three hundred Years,
Exempt from worldly Hopes and Fears,
And laid in State upon their Herse,
Are truly but embalm'd in Verse.
As fure as Lefbia's Sparrow I,

Thou fure as Prior's Dove muft die :
And ne'er again from Lethe's Streams
Return to Adige or to Thames.

I therefore weep Columbo dead,

My Hopes bereav'd my Pleasures fled;
I therefore must for ever moan

My dear Columbo, dead and gone.

Columbo never fees your Tears,
Your Cries Columbo never hears;
A Wall of Brafs and one of Lead,
Divide the Living from the Dead.
Repell'd by this the gather'd Rain
Of Tears beats back to Earth again
In t'other the collected Sound

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Of Groans, when once receiv'd, is drown'd.

'Tis therefore vain one Hour to grieve
What Time it self can ne'er retrieve

By Nature foft, I know, a Dove

Can never live without her Love;

Then quit this Flame, and light another
Dame, I advise you like a Brother.

T. What