Come then, Dione, let us range the grove, <br />The science of the feather'd choirs explore <br />Hear linnets argue, larks descant of love, <br />And blame the gloom of solitude, no more. <br /> <br />My doubt subsides-'tis no Italian song, <br />Nor senseless ditty, cheers the vernal tree: <br />Ah! who that hears Dione's tuneful tongue, <br />Shall doubt that music may with sense agree? <br /> <br />And come, my Muse! that lov'st the sylvan shade, <br />Evolve the mazes, and the mist dispel; <br />Translate the song; convince my doubting maid <br />No solemn dervise can explain so well- <br /> <br />Pensive beneath the twilight shades I sate, <br />The slave of hopeless vows and cold disdain! <br />When Philomel address'd his mournful mate, <br />And thus I construed the mellifluent strain. <br /> <br />'Sing on, my bird!-the liquid notes prolong; <br />At every note a lover sheds his tear; <br />Sing on, my bird!-'tis Damon hears thy song, <br />Nor doubt to gain applause, when lovers hear. <br /> <br />'He the sad source of our complaining knows! <br />A foe to Tereus, and to lawless love! <br />He mourns the story of our ancient woes; <br />Ah! could our music his complaints remove! <br /> <br />'Yon plains are govern'd by a peerless maid; <br />And see! pale Cynthia mounts the vaulted sky; <br />A train of lovers court the chequer'd shade: <br />Sing on, my bird! and hear thy mate's reply. <br /> <br />'Erewhile no shepherd to these woods retired, <br />No lover bless'd the glow-worm's pallid ray; <br />But ill-starr'd birds, that, listening, not admired; <br />Or, listening, envied our superior lay. <br /> <br />'Cheer'd by the sun, the vassals of his power, <br />Let such by day unite their jarring strains! <br />But let us choose the calm; the silent hour, <br />Nor want fit audience while Dione reigns.'<br /><br />William Shenstone<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/elegy-vi-to-a-lady-on-the-language-of-birds/
