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THE DYING SWAN.

’TWAS on a river’s verdant side,
about the close of day,
⟨A⟩ dying Swan with music try’d
⟨To⟩ chase her cares away.

⟨And⟩ tho’ she ne’er had strain’d her throat,
⟨Nor⟩ tun’d her voice before,
⟨Death⟩ ravish’d with so sweet a note,
a while his stroke forebore.

⟨Farewel⟩ tho’ she cry’d, ye silver streams,
⟨Ye⟩ purling waves adieu,
⟨Where⟩ Phoebus us’d to dart his beams,
and bless both me and you.

⟨Farewel⟩ ye tender whistling reeds,
⟨Soft⟩ scenes of happy love;
⟨Farewel⟩, ye bright enamell'd meads,
where I was wont to rove.

⟨With⟩ you I must no more converse;
look, yonder setting sun
⟨Waits,⟩ while I these notes rehearse,
and then he must be gone.

⟨Mourn⟩ not, my kind and constant mate,
We'll meet again below;
⟨It is⟩ the kind decree of Fate,
and I with pleasure go.