The Battle of Largs A Gothic Poem. With Several Miscellaneous Pieces [by John Galt] |
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CUPID'S PROPHECY.
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 | The Battle of Largs |  |
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CUPID'S PROPHECY.
Green-vestur'd Spring o'er wild and wood
Dispens'd her life-effusing power,
And stretch'd along in pensive mood,
While wand'ring wishes warm'd my blood,
I sigh'd within a sylvan bower.
Dispens'd her life-effusing power,
And stretch'd along in pensive mood,
While wand'ring wishes warm'd my blood,
I sigh'd within a sylvan bower.
Amidst the close-embracing boughs
That breath'd fresh odours o'er the seat,
The breeze caress'd the blushing rose,
With many a whisper soft and sweet.
That breath'd fresh odours o'er the seat,
The breeze caress'd the blushing rose,
With many a whisper soft and sweet.
When whistling from the woodland shade,
With sprightly steps a stripling came,
Whose hand a bow unstrung display'd,
Which whiplike smacking, smartly made
Loud Echo his approach proclaim.
With sprightly steps a stripling came,
Whose hand a bow unstrung display'd,
Which whiplike smacking, smartly made
Loud Echo his approach proclaim.
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Quick (startled by the idle sound
That broke the stillness of the wild)
I gaz'd, and saw with fear profound,
The fair mysterious Cyprian child.
That broke the stillness of the wild)
I gaz'd, and saw with fear profound,
The fair mysterious Cyprian child.
‘What, ho!’ the blue-ey'd rover cried,
‘Do'st tread the vernal fields alone?
‘Art by some haughty nymph denied,
‘And seek'st thou in the groves to hide
‘A hopeless heart's desponding moan?’
‘Do'st tread the vernal fields alone?
‘Art by some haughty nymph denied,
‘And seek'st thou in the groves to hide
‘A hopeless heart's desponding moan?’
‘Away, perfidious imp, away,’
I boldly said with braggart tongue,
‘My soul repels thy slavish sway.’
He laugh'd, and ey'd the bow unstrung.
I boldly said with braggart tongue,
‘My soul repels thy slavish sway.’
He laugh'd, and ey'd the bow unstrung.
But ere my pulse repeated three,
The string tip'd archly bit my breast;
‘Redoubted Sir, remember me,
‘A day is fixt to humble thee,
‘And break thy drowsy dreamy rest.’
The string tip'd archly bit my breast;
‘Redoubted Sir, remember me,
‘A day is fixt to humble thee,
‘And break thy drowsy dreamy rest.’
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The dimpled rogue, with finger rais'd
And look prophetic, said and flew,
Behind his radiant quiver blaz'd,
Whose shafts I soon shall sadly rue.
And look prophetic, said and flew,
Behind his radiant quiver blaz'd,
Whose shafts I soon shall sadly rue.
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