University of Virginia Library


195

FROM ANACREON.

When my weary, worn-out eyes
Closed to seek a willing peace,
And the moon, in midnight skies,
Glittered like a shilling-piece—
At my door there came a knock,
O'er my brow a dizziness;
Through the pane I gave a look—
“Holloa! what's your business?”
There I saw a little boy,
Frosty-faced and shivering;
Forty arrows, like a toy,
Bent his back a quiver in.
“Let me in,” he cried, “till day—
Lost my road in jogging on;
I have got the means to pay,
Put your board a noggin on.
“Men by mercy show the god—
Don't be stupid, pondering;
If you send me on the road,
I shall die in wandering.”
“Enter in,” said I, “my lad;
Pale, your cheeks with soda vie;
Here 's a fire to make you glad,
Here 's a glass of eau de vie.”
To the dying flame he drew,
Wanted warmth remembering;

196

And his color backward flew,
As he puffed the ember in,
Then he dried his moistened hair,
Then he broached a keg or two,
Then he hummed a merry air,
Danced, and cut a leg or two.
But when he beheld his bow,
All his joints seemed sinuous;
“Sure,” he cried, “'t is spoilt by snow,”
And he twanged continuous.
“Lost! oh, lost! unhappy I!
If 't is hurt, I die for it!
You shall be the bullock's eye,
Never will you sigh for it.”
Ere again I could exclaim,
Fearing some ill luck in it,
At my heart he took an aim,
And his arrow stuck in it.
“That's a hit—my dart is true;
Now,” said he, “away for it!”
Through a window-pane he flew,
And left poor I to pay for it.