Classic Poem

A Wanton kid from Delia stray'd,
A beauteous nymph of peerless mien,
The frisking wand'rer left the maid
To mourn its loss on Jessey's green.

In vain she cry'd, " My lamb return,
Nor fly, my kid, thou know'st not where. "
The trifler, with a lost concern,
Fled ev'ry plaint of Jessey's fair.

Young Damon heard her plaintive cries,
And hurt to see the virgin weep,
To seek her lamb, like lightning flies,
O'er woodlands, dales, and mountains steep.

Ah, hapless victim! — breathless — cold,
He finds his Delia's fleecy care;
Her kid had down a summit roll'd,
Ere far he'd fled from Jessey's fair.

Her lamb, her fav'rite lamb, no more
Could play its little gambols round;
Its num'rous tricks, alas! were o'er,
And, ah! its death — its folly found.

A tear stood trembling in his eye,
As Damon told her lambkin's fate,
Which Delia's handkerchief would dry,
Expressive of her love-sick state.

She lov'd the youth whose tender breast
Could make another's grief his own;
Nor did she wish that love suppress'd,
But fondly strove to make it known.

The faithful Damon ne'er would rove,
But where his Delia chanc'd to stray;
Too happy if his love could prove,
How fond — how willing — to obey.

The happy moment now arriv'd,
She bade the youth " no more despair,
" For Damon, who her lamb surviv'd,
" Was worthy Jessey's (lovely) fair. "