The Parting of Sireno and Diana

Close by a stream, whose flowery bank might give Delight to eyes that had no cause to grieve, The sad Sireno sate, and fed his sheep, Which now, alas! he had no joy to keep; Since his hard fate compell'd him to depart From her dear sight, who long had charm'd his heart. Fix'd were his thoughts upon the fatal day That gave him first what this must take away; Through all the story of his love he ran, And nought forgot that might increase his pain. Then with a sigh raising his heavy eyes, Th' approach of his afflicted nymph he spies. Sad as she was, she lost no usual grace, But as she pass'd seem'd to adorn the place: Thither she came to take her last farewell; Her silent look did her sad business tell. Under a neighbouring tree they sate them down, Whose shade had oft preserv'd them from the sun; Each took the other by the willing hand, Striving to speak, but could no word command: With mutual grief both were so overcome, The much they had to say had made them dumb. There many a time they two had met before, But met, alas! upon a happier score: Cruel reverse of fate, which all the joys Their mutual presence us'd to bring destroys. Sireno saw his fatal hour draw near, And, wanting strength the parting pang to bear, All drown'd in tears he gaz'd upon the maid, And she with equal grief the swain survey'd; Till his imprison'd passion forc'd its way, And gave him leave faintly at last to say: