Classic Poem

Young Cupid went storming to Vulcan one day,
And besought him to look at his arrow.
" 'Tis useless, " he cried; " you must mend it, I say;
'Tisn't fit to let fly at a sparrow.
There's something that's wrong in the shaft or the dart,
For it flutters quite false to my aim;
'Tis an age since it fairly went home to the heart,
And the world really jests at my name.

" I have straightened, I've bent, I've tried all, I declare,
I've perfumed it with sweetest of sighs;
'Tis feathered with ringlets my mother might wear,
And the barb gleams with light from young eyes;
But it falls without touching — I'll break it, I vow,
For there's Hymen beginning to pout;
He's complaining his torch burns so dull and so low
That Zephyr might puff it right out. "

Little Cupid went on with his pitiful tale,
Till Vulcan the weapon restored.
" There, take it, young sir; try it now — if it fail,
I will ask neither fee nor reward. "
The urchin shot out, and rare havoc he made;
The wounded and dead were untold;
But no wonder the rogue had such slaughtering trade,
For the arrow was laden with gold .