HELP! Help! Ye Nymphs, whilst on the neighb'ring plain Your flocks do feed, come and assistance bring; Alas! Fair Cynthia's sick and languishing, For whom my heart endures a greater pain. Ye Syrens of the Thames, let all your train Tune their shrill Instruments, and to them sing, And let its flow'ry banks with echoes ring, This may her wonted cheerful looks regain. Ye herbs, that richest med'cines can produce, Come quickly and afford such sov'reign juice, As from her heart may all the pains remove: But in her face if death would paleness give, And Fate ordain that she in torment live, Then let her suffer in the flames of Love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUR LORD AND OUR LADY by HILAIRE BELLOC CONTRA MORTEM: THE VILLAGE by HAYDEN CARRUTH A TIME TO DANCE by CECIL DAY LEWIS SYNOPSIS OF A FAILED POEM by JAMES GALVIN HEGIRA by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SUPREME by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO A MAN WORKING HIS WAY THROUGH THE CROWD by MARIANNE MOORE |