Come round me and weep, to your hearts take despair

Come round me and weep, to your hearts take despair:
'Tis a cause that all nature must mourn,
Poor Hylas of love who from all had a share,
From our wishes for ever is torn.
That Hylas to whom we look'd up for a smile,
As we blessings from heaven would obtain,
Whose form was so faultless, whose tongue knew no guile,
Is gone, and our wishes are vain.