The works, in verse and prose, of William Shenstone, Esq In two volumes. With Decorations. The fourth edition |
 | I. |
| II. |
 | The works, in verse and prose, of William Shenstone, Esq |  |
144
AN ACREONTIC. 1738.
'Twas in a cool Aonian glade,
The wanton Cupid, spent with toil,
Had sought refreshment from the shade;
And stretch'd him on the mossy soil.
The wanton Cupid, spent with toil,
Had sought refreshment from the shade;
And stretch'd him on the mossy soil.
A vagrant muse drew nigh, and found
The subtle traitor fast asleep;
And is it thine to snore profound,
She said, yet leave the world to weep?
The subtle traitor fast asleep;
And is it thine to snore profound,
She said, yet leave the world to weep?
But hush—from this auspicious hour,
The world, I ween, may rest in peace;
And robb'd of darts, and stript of pow'r,
Thy peevish petulance decrease.
The world, I ween, may rest in peace;
And robb'd of darts, and stript of pow'r,
Thy peevish petulance decrease.
Sleep on, poor child! whilst I withdraw,
And this thy vile artillery hide—
When the Castalian fount she saw,
And plung'd his arrows in the tide.
And this thy vile artillery hide—
When the Castalian fount she saw,
And plung'd his arrows in the tide.
That magic fount—ill-judging maid!
Shall cause you soon to curse the day
You dar'd the shafts of love invade;
And gave his arms redoubled sway.
Shall cause you soon to curse the day
You dar'd the shafts of love invade;
And gave his arms redoubled sway.
145
For in a stream so wonderous clear,
When angry Cupid searches round,
Will not the radiant points appear?
Will not the furtive spoils be found?
When angry Cupid searches round,
Will not the radiant points appear?
Will not the furtive spoils be found?
Too soon they were; and every dart,
Dipt in the muse's mystic spring,
Acquir'd new force to wound the heart;
And taught at once to love and sing.
Dipt in the muse's mystic spring,
Acquir'd new force to wound the heart;
And taught at once to love and sing.
Then farewel ye Pierian quire;
For who will now your altars throng?
From love we learn to swell the lyre;
And echo asks no sweeter song.
For who will now your altars throng?
From love we learn to swell the lyre;
And echo asks no sweeter song.
| The works, in verse and prose, of William Shenstone, Esq | |