John Cunningham

William Hawkins, "The Plaintive Swain: to the Memory, and in Imitation of the late Mr. John Cunningham" Morning Chronicle and London Advertiser (9 October 1778).

He said, on the banks by the stream,
He had pip'd for the Shepherds too long;
But, oh! how delightful his theme,
For innocence brighten'd his song!
Then how could he wish to rehearse
Such lessons so lofty and wide?
When Phillis was fond of his verse,
And nature sate down by his side?

Ah! Colin, who could you mistake,
'Till Pan bid you stick to your strain?
Could you leave the white swans on the lake,
Or quite the delight of the plain?
Oh! no, honest Colin, you found
No flame like your Phillis's praise,
And poets came creeping around
To listen, and envy your lays.

But vain were their efforts to try
To copy thy soft, soothing strains;
Their skill they were wont to deny,
As a wretched reward for their pains.
Yes, Colin, thy music was sweet,
With melody glided along,
While primroses bloom'd at thy feet,
And Shepherds stood by in a throng.

The nymphs too came flocking the while
From their cots, where they dwelt in the dale,
And each of them seemed to smile
At the joys they receiv'd from the tale:
But now you have bid them adieu!
Death has seiz'd you a victim, away,
While in sorrow they long wish for you,
And weep wheresoever they stray!