Give me a form to fit my tears,
And let rough Trachin echo back195
My cries of woe. The Cyprian maid
Still soothes her grieving heart with tears;
Still Ceyx's royal spouse bemoans
Her vanished lord; and Niobe,
Surviving life and grief, weeps on;
Her human form has Philomel
Escaped, and now with doleful notes
The Attic maid bewails her dead.200