dots-menu
×

Home  »  The English Poets  »  The Dying Kid

Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. III. The Eighteenth Century: Addison to Blake

William Shenstone (1714–1763)

The Dying Kid

A TEAR bedews my Delia’s eye,

To think yon playful kid must die;

From crystal spring and flowery mead

Must, in his prime of life, recede.

Erewhile in sportive circles round

She saw him wheel, and frisk, and bound;

From rock to rock pursue his way,

And on the fearful margin play.

Pleased on his various freaks to dwell

She saw him climb my rustic cell;

Then eye my lawns with verdure bright,

And seem all ravished at the sight.

She tells with what delight he stood

To trace his features in the flood;

Then skipped aloof with quaint amaze

And then drew near again to gaze.

She tells me how with eager speed

He flew to hear my vocal reed;

And how with critic face profound,

And steadfast ear devoured the sound.

His every frolic light as air

Deserves the gentle Delia’s care;

And tears bedew her tender eye,

To think the playful kid must die.—

But knows my Delia, timely wise,

How soon this blameless era flies?

While violence and craft succeed

Unfair design and ruthless deed!

Soon would the vine his wounds deplore,

And yield her purple gifts no more;

Oh soon, erased from every grove

Were Delia’s name, and Strephon’s love.

No more those bowers might Strephon see,

Where first he fondly gazed on thee;

No more those beds of flowerets find

Which for thy charming brows he twined.

Each wayward passion soon would tear

His bosom, now so void of care.

And when they left his ebbing vein

What but insipid age remain?

Then mourn not the decrees of Fate

That gave his life so short a date;

And I will join thy tenderest sighs

To think that youth so swiftly flies.