To Cloe Weeping

SEE, whilst thou weep'st, fair Cloe, see
The world in sympathy with thee.
The cheerful birds no longer sing ;
Each droops his head, and hangs his wing.
The clouds have bent their bosom lower,
And shed their sorrows in a shower.
The brooks beyond their limits flow ;
And louder murmurs speak their woe.
The nymphs and swains adopt thy cares ;
They heave thy sighs, and weep thy tears.
Fantastic nymph ! that grief should move
Thy heart, obdurate against Love.
Strange tears ! whose power can soften all,
But that dear breast on which they fall.