Celadon on Delia Singing

O Delia! for I know 'tis she,
It must be she, for nothing less could move
My tuneless heart, than something from above.
I hate all earthly harmony:
Hark, hark, ye Nymphs, and Satyrs all around!
Hark, how the baffled Echo faints; see how she dies,
Look how the wingèd choir all gasping lies
At the melodious sound;
See, while she sings
How they droop and hang their wings!
Angelic Delia, sing no more,
Thy song's too great for mortal ear;
Thy charming notes we can no longer bear:
O then in pity to the World give o'er,
And leave us stupid as we were before.
Fair Delia, take the fatal choice,
Or veil thy beauty, or suppress thy Voice.

His passion thus poor Celadon betray'd,
When first he saw, when first he heard the lovely Maid.