Select poems of Edward Hovel Thurlow | ||
66
ODE XLV.
[He, of Venus ill belov'd]
He, of Venus ill belov'd,
By the Lemnian forges, once,
Made the darts, the darts of love,
Taking iron for the toil:
But then Venus ting'd the darts
With the dew of honey sweet;
But then Cupid shed the gall.
By the Lemnian forges, once,
Made the darts, the darts of love,
Taking iron for the toil:
But then Venus ting'd the darts
With the dew of honey sweet;
But then Cupid shed the gall.
But when Mars from battle came,
Shaking the prevailing spear,
Light he held of Cupid's dart.
Shaking the prevailing spear,
Light he held of Cupid's dart.
But then Cupid, “This,” he cried,
“This is sharp, as you may find;”
And then Mars receiv'd the spear,
And then Venus softly laugh'd:
“This is sharp, as you may find;”
And then Mars receiv'd the spear,
And then Venus softly laugh'd:
Gave then Mars a mighty groan:
“Sharp it is,” he cried; “away
“Take it;” but then Cupid smil'd,
“Have it in your heart,” he said.
“Sharp it is,” he cried; “away
“Take it;” but then Cupid smil'd,
“Have it in your heart,” he said.
Select poems of Edward Hovel Thurlow | ||