The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus with the Elegies of Tyrtaeus, Translated from the Greek into English Verse. To which are Added, Dissertations and Notes. By the Rev. Richard Polwhele |
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| I. | IDYLLIUM the FIRST. The STRAY CUPID. |
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 | The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus |  |
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IDYLLIUM the FIRST. The STRAY CUPID.
As Cupid from his Mother Venus stray'd,Thus, crying him aloud, the Goddess said:
‘If any one a wandering Cupid see,
‘The little Fugitive belongs to me.
‘And if he tell what Path the Rogue pursues,
‘My Kisses shall reward him for the News:
‘But if he bring me back the Boy I miss,
‘I'll give him something sweeter than a Kiss.
‘So plain—so numerous are his Marks, you'll own,
‘That ev'n among a Score he may be known.
‘Flame-colour'd is his glowing Skin—not white;
‘Fierce are his Eyes that flash malignant Light.
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‘Yet War is in his Heart and dark Deceit!
‘Provoke him—and his Rage all Check defies—
‘Frantic, in other's Woe his Pastime lies.
‘Bright-clustering Locks his lovely Forehead grace,
‘But insolent Expression marks his Face.
‘Tho' little are his Hands, those Hands can fling
‘Darts ev'n to Acheron, and the Infernal King.
‘Tho' bare his Body, yet no Art can find
‘A Clue, to trace the Motions of his Mind.
‘As the fleet Bird, on airy Pinions light,
‘From Men to sighing Maids he wings his Flight;
‘Now here, now there, in many a Circle strays,
‘Yet perching on their Vitals, inly preys.
‘Lo! ready from his little Bow to fly—
‘His Arrow, swift tho' slight, can pierce the Sky.
‘A golden Quiver on his Shoulder glows,
‘And holds the embitter'd Darts for Friends or Foes.
‘Ev'n I their frequent Wounds would vainly shun!
‘But his fell Torch—its Blaze ev'n dims the Sun!
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‘Nor mind him, tho' he cry and stamp the Ground.
‘And trust him not, tho' smiling he appears;
‘Alike deceitful are his Smiles and Tears.
‘To kiss you, sweetly-laughing, should he try,
‘Fly him—there's Poison in his Kisses—fly!
‘But if he say: “How idle your Alarms!
“Here—take my Darts—my Arrows—take my Arms!”
‘Ah touch them not—beware the treacherous Aim—
‘His Darts, his Arrows, are all tipt with Flame.’
| The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus | |