University of Virginia Library

LOVE AND DEATH.

Came Love, one summer day,
Dead tired, so they say,
Unto a grotto fair,
And courted slumber there,
And flung his darts away.
Pitch dark, the Fable saith,
And named the Cave of Death,
But this Love did not know.
As though he'd sped a shaft
With more than common craft,
Once in his sleep he laughed;
At Dawn he rose to go,
And a cry he did emit
Of gladness to be quit
Of the darkness, and the odour of the Cave.
Departing he was fain
To have his darts again:—
“Oh! Love, blind Love, beware!
The shafts of Death are there,
The shafts of Death are there,”
Said the echo to the echo in the Cave.
But Love cared not a stiver,
Intent on human hearts,
He gathered to his quiver
His own with Death's black darts,
And glorious as the morning
He winged his golden way;
Fair maidens had forewarning
That Love was on the way.
The strong man, labour scorning,
Did nothing all that day,
For dallying with a maiden
Is neither work nor play.
To Earth, to Earth again!
Intending ill to none;
He wotted not of pain,
Blind creature of the Sun;
Scarce knowing what he did,
In haste to have it done,
Both young and old he rushed amid
And shot his arrows every one.
Then some cried out:—“'Tis Death he deals!”
And surely Death did come;
While others cried:—“'Tis Love, 'tis Love!”
And Love there was for some.