English poem

On the Death of a Lady's Owl

The Owl expires! death gave the dreadful word, And lovely Anna weeps her fav'rite bird. Ye feather'd choir in willing throngs repair And sooth the sorrows of the melting fair; In sounds of woe the dear-departed greet, With cyprefs strew, ye doves, the green retreat; The fateful raven tolls the passing bell, The solemn dirge be sung by Philomel; Sir Chanticlear, a chief of hardy race, Shall guard from kites and daws, the sacred place. With your just tears a bard shall mix his own, And thus, in artless verse, inscribe the stone.

More by Anonymous

ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF John Adams
On the Birth-day of the Late Stephen Poyntz, Esq
On the BIRTH-DAY of WASHINGTON
On the Crucifixion
On the Death of a Young Gentleman
On the Death of Dr. Parne, Fellow of Trin. Col. Cam
On the Death of Miss W
On the DEATH of the amiable Lieutenant YEATES, who fell at the battle of Princeton

All 3816 poems by Anonymous