No, Lesbia no, you ask in vain,
My harp, my mind's unstrung,
When all the world's in tears, in pain,
Do you require a song? 

See, how ev'ry nymph and swain
Hang down their heads, and weep!
No voice nor pipe is heard in all the plain,
So great their sorrows, they neglect their sheep. 

The Queen of Arcadie is gone!
Lesbia, the loss can't be expressed,
Not with the deepest sigh, or groan,
Or throbbings of the breast. 

Ah! poor Arcadians, how they mourn,
Oh! the delight and wonder of their eyes!
She's gone, and never must return:
Their star is fix'd, and shines beyond the skies.