On the Death of AQUILA ROSE, by a young Woman

Fame, thou transporting, rude, uncertain Sound, Now fly for Haste, and be forever sped; Thou canst no more give such a vocal Wound, As this sad Truth, Aquila Rose is dead.

Dead to our Eyes, and never to return, While faded Laurels Schuylkil Rocks adorn.

Now, now, no more, ye shady Hills an Bow'rs, Shall your droop'd Heads rejoice to hear those Lays That flow'd so sweetly from those lofty Pow'rs, So near ally'd to the Orphean Bays.

Ab me, ye Woods and Shores assist to mourn, And faded Laurels Schuylkil Rocks adorn.

Ye glitt'ring Springs that beautify the Shore With warbling Notes, to meet the rowling Stream, Go bid your Fountains lend their utmost store, To pay their Tribute to so just a Theme,

With mournful Sound around his silent Urn, While faded Laurels Schuylkil Rocks adorn.

Ah! why so sad? ye Shepherds, why so mute? Are all your wretched Pipes forever fled? Now breathless Silence dwells on ev'ry Lute, To find the Author of their Musick dead.

Let us lament, and ev'ry Echo mourn, And faded Laurels Schuylkil Rocks adorn.

Immortal Musick, bright victorious Palms, Let your melodious indiscording Songs, So tune our Lays with your caelestial Charms, To warm our Bosoms and inspire our Tongues,

That we may meet around Aquila's Urn, And the dear Bard in brightest Numbers mourn.