University of Virginia Library

Who sets his heart on things below,
But little happiness shall know;
For every object he pursues
Will vex, deceive him and abuse:
While he whose hopes and wishes rise
To endless bliss above the skies,
A true felicity shall gain,
With freedom from both care and pain.
He seeks what yields him peace and rest,
Both when in prospect and possest.

A swain, whose flock had gone astray,
Was wand'ring far out of his way
Thro' desarts wild, and chanc'd to see
A stripling leaning on a tree,
In all things like the human-kind,
But that upon his back behind
Two wings were from his shoulders spread
Of gold and azure ting'd with red;
Their colour like the ev'ning sky:
A golden quiver grac'd his thigh:
His bow unbended in his hand
He held, and wrote with on the sand;
As one whom anxious cares pursue,
In musing oft is wont to do.
He started still with sudden fear,
As if some danger had been near,
And turn'd on every side to view
A flight of birds that round him flew,
Whose presence seem'd to make him sad,
For all were ominous and bad;
The hawk was there, the type of spite,
The jealous owl that shuns the light,
The raven, whose prophetic bill
Denounces woe and mischief still;
The vulture hungry to devour,
Tho' gorg'd and glutted ev'ry hour;
With these confus'd an ugly crew
Of harpies, bats and dragons flew,
With talons arm'd and teeth and stings,
The air was darken'd with their wings.
The swain, tho' frighten'd, yet drew near,
Compassion rose in place of fear,
He to the winged youth began,
“Say, are you mortal and of man,
Or something of celestial birth,
From heaven descended to the earth?”
I am not of terrestrial kind,
Quoth Cupid, nor to earth confin'd:
Heav'n is my true and proper sphere,
My rest and happiness are there:
Thro' all the boundless realms of light
The phœnix waits upon my flight,
With other birds whose names are known
In that delightful place alone.
But when to earth my course I bend,
At once they leave me and ascend;
And for companions, in their stead,
Those winged monsters there succeed,
Who hov'ring round me night and day,
Expect and claim me as their prey.

Sir, quoth the Shepherd, if you'll try,
Your arrows soon will make them fly;
Or if they brave them and resist,
My sling is ready to assist.

Incapacle of wounds and pain,
Reply'd the winged youth again,
These foes our weapons will defy;
Immortal made, they never die;
But live to haunt me every where,
While I remain within their sphere.

Sir, quoth the Swain, might I advise,
You straight shou'd get above the skies:
It seems indeed your only way,
For nothing here is worth your stay:
Beside, when foes like these molest,
You'll find but little peace or rest.