Classic Poem

Come , ye Citizens of Air,
To this Grove, with Speed repair,
From your lofty Seats descend,
And lament Canario's End:
Gently; gently, sooth our Cares,
With harmonious warbling Airs;
Then, aloft your Voices raise,
And in Consort sing his Praise.

Pretty Birds! 'tis all in Vain,
That you sing, and you complain;
Never can you reach his Lays,
Never can you tell his Praise.

Of a foreign Race he came,
Yet, so gentle, and so tame,
That he liv'd uncag'd, and free,
And abus'd not Liberty:
Love in him was stronger far,
Than the strictest Fetters are;
And did greater Wonders shew,
Than tyrannick Force could do.
Ev'ry Morning, with the Sun,
He such chearful Notes begun,
As made humane Kind admire,
And excell'd the feather'd Choir.
Round his Window would they throng,
List'ning to the charming Song;
And, with emulating Throats,
Vainly strive to learn his Notes.

When he heard Sulpitia's Voice,
Oh! how would his Heart rejoice!
Step, by Step, he'd pacing come
To her Door, and view the Room;
And if Company he saw,
Modestly he would withdraw;
But if no Body were nigh,
To Sulpitia's Lap he'd fly.

Not the Bird which Juno loves,
Nor fair Cytherea's Doves,
Were so great, so blest, as he
Perch'd on bright Sulpitia's Knee:
On her Lap, or on her Hand,
Charming Notes he would command,
Notes, too fine for mortal Ears;
Notes, that seem'd to vie the Sphears.

But alas! he's now no more,
Let us then his Fate deplore:
Little Birds lament his Fall,
Solemnize his Funeral;
Cast your Feathers on the Ground,
Sing the mournful Dirge around:
Thro' each sylvan Lawn, and Grove;
Murmur out your grateful Love;
And with united Voice proclaim
Canario's Merit, and his Fame.