Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

When love was a novice a long time ago,
Deck'd out by mama with a quiver and bow,
He used them as playthings, and threw out his darts
At doves and at sparrows, and thought not of hearts.
But shooting at random is dangerous play,
A fair nymph was struck by an arrow one day;
And Cupid, who then was not so harden'd in guilt,
Turn'd pale at the sight of the blood he had spilt.

II

“Oh! what can I do for my pretty young maid?
I'll be your physician,” the penitent said:
“Come tell me your symptoms.” “Alas!” she replied,
“A fluttering pulse and a pain in my side:
And a feverish feeling when Damon is nigh,
And a pang when he leaves me, I cannot tell why:
Oh! cure me, or shoot Damon also; I'm sure
If he shared my feelings I'd ask for no cure.”

III

“No, no, you shall shoot him yourself,” he replied;
“I'll give you my weapon and fight on your side;
Prepare your artillery, this way he went.
I see him, we'll wound him, make ready, present.
I'll send a new light to your eyes, and give birth
To a mingled expression, half archness, half mirth;
I'll shew him your teeth when your little mouth speaks,
And place a small dimple in one of your cheeks.”

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IV

These charms in succession were fruitlessly tried:
The youth felt no fever, no pain, in his side.
“Now use all your arrows at once,” cried the child;
She did so, and Damon was hers, for she smil'd!
“Delightful! delightful!” said Cupid, “I've found
A charm of all others most certain to wound:
Though eyes, teeth, and dimples may fail for awhile,
Combine them, and call the bright weapon a smile!”