The SPARROW, from CATULLUS

Mourn all ye CUPIDS, Mourn ye little Loves, Mourn ye fair Maids, and mourn ye pretty Doves; My Lesbia's SPARROW Fate has rapt away, Her darling Joy, and Pleasure of her Day. Sweeter he was, than ever Tongue can tell, Well worthy Love, and was belov'd as well: The pretty Sparrow his own Mistress knew, As well as infant Babes their Mothers do. From her dear Lap his Wings he never mov'd, But hover'd round, and show'd how well he lov'd; Round her fair Bosom still he hopp'd and play'd, And chirp'd with Joy about the lovely Maid. But now poor Bird! treads PLUTO's gloomy shore, Never, ah! never to return once more. And you dark Shades of Hell's infernal Reign, Ten thousand Curses for your Plague remain: Instant you seize on all that's Sweet and Gay, Ev'n LESBIA's Bird, well-lov'd, you stole away. O Fact accurst! poor TOM at last is dead, Hangs his weak Neck, and droops his sickly Head: Griev'd at the Loss my LESBIA too appears, Swells her fair Eye, and reddens into Tears.