The Legend of Procris and Cephalus.

 based on a painting in the London National gallery 
 A satyr mourns the death of a nymph ,
by Pierro de Cosimo
 

Who is this maiden sleeping here
This beauty she is dead I fear
Fair Procris lies still upon the grass
She killed by the dart of Cephalus
This foolish man whose beloved lass  he slew
For he  thought his one fair love untrue

And so spied on her to gain some clue

To see what doings she may be up to
and so in the bushes
Upon one side-
So stealthily  did wait and hide
Imagining  he'd  see his unfaithful friend-
 with friend in passing by
But in this state of jealousy
The bushes rustled noisily
Which gave young Cephalus a start
And so he shot his poisoned dart
It  sadly did  not miss its mark
Now fair Procris lies upon the grass
Killed by the dart of Cephalus

And Procris as if asleep she makes no sound
Upon the green welcoming ground
But see who  has come to look around
But Laelaps, Procris old faithful hound
The poor old dog he observed the two
Wishing there was something he might do
And across the bay, behold the city
Issues forth no cry of pity
But the daisies in amongst the grass
Sing "Fair Procris has come to us at last."