University of Virginia Library

Listen, listen, softly, clear,
Venus' accents woo the ear!
“Gentle stranger, hast thou seen,”
Thus proclaims the beauteous queen:
“Hast thou seen my Cupid stray,
Lurking near the public way?
Bring him back, and thou shalt sip
A kiss at least from Venus' lip,
'Tis a boy of well known name,
Thou canst know him by his fame:
Fair his face, but overspread,
Cheek and brow, with rosy red,
And his eyes of azure bright
Sparkle with a fiery light.
Small and snowy are his hands,
But their tender power commands
Even Pluto's empire wide—
Acheron's polluted tide
Loses at their gentle waving
Half the terror of its raving.
At his dimpled shoulders move
Plumy pinions like a dove.
And or youth or maiden meeting,
When among the flowers he's flitting,
Like a swallow swift he darts,
Perching on their beating hearts.
From his back a quiver fair,
Golden like his curly hair,
Pendent falls in purple ties,
Scattering radiance as he flies.
He the slender dart can throw,
Singing from his polished bow,
Far as heaven: nor will he spare
Even me, his mother there.
And whene'er a victim bleeds,
Laughing, glorying in his deeds,
Still with added fires to scorch,
He, a little hidden torch,
Deeming not his mischief done,
Kindles at the glowing sun.
If the urchin thou shouldst find,
Let not pity move thy mind,
Suffer not his tears to grieve thee,
They but trickle to deceive thee.
If he smile upon thee, haste,
Heed him not, but bind him fast,
Should he pout his lips to kiss,
Oh! avoid the treacherous bliss!
Turn thy head, nor dare to meet
Of his breath the poison sweet
Should he ply his potent charms,
And presenting thee his arms,
Graceful kneel, and sweetly say,
“Take my proffered gifts, I pray,”
Do not touch them, still disdain,
All are fraught with venomed pain.

“'Tis education forms the common mind,
Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclined.”
Great bard, thou warblest true; but minds and trees,
Though bent, retain their native properties.
Prune, sun, support,—the poplar still remains
Barren and weak, despite of all thy pains.
Bow the young walnut, even to the ground,
Still aromatick odours breathe around,
And if, perchance, its generous growth should find,
Too strong to burst, the envious withes that bind,
Still, many a strong and healthful branch will rise,
Whose ripening fruit shall glad the autumn skies.