The evening Hour, to shepherds dear. *
In tones so bland he praised her beauty,
Such melting airs his pipe could play,
The thoughtless Hour forgot her duty,
And fled in Love’s embrace away.
Meanwhile the fold was left unguarded—
The wolf broke in—the lambs were slain:
And now from Virtue’s train discarded,
With tears her sisters speak their pain.
Time flies, and still they weep; for never