Hark! yonder eagle lonely wails; 
His faithful bosom grief assails: 
Last night I heard him in my dream, 
When death and woe were all the theme. 
Like that poor bird I make my moan,
I grieve for dearest Delia gone; 
With him to gloomy rocks I fly, 
He mourns for love, and so do I.

'Twas mighty love that tam'd his breast, 
'Tis tender grief that breaks his rest; 
He droops his wings, he hangs his head, 
Since she he fondly lov'd was dead; 
With Delia's breath my joy expir'd,
'Twas Delia's smiles my fancy fir'd; 
Like that poor bird, I pine, and prove 
Naught can supply the place of love.