Classic Poem

ODE XXVIII.

A S , by his Lemnian forge's flame,
The husband of the Paphian dame
Moulded the glowing steel, to form
Arrows for Cupid, thrilling warm;
And Venus, as he plied his art,
Shed honey round each new-made dart,
While Love, at hand, to finish all,
Tipped every arrow's point with gall;
It chanced the Lord of Battles came
To visit that deep cave of flame.
'T was from the ranks of war he rushed,
His spear with many a life-drop blushed;
He saw the fiery darts, and smiled
Contemptuous at the archer-child.
" What! " said the urchin, " dost thou smile?
Here, hold this little dart awhile,
And thou wilt find, though swift of flight,
My bolts are not so feathery light. "

Mars took the shaft — and, oh, thy look,
Sweet Venus, when the shaft he took! —
Sighing, he felt the urchin's art,
And cried, in agony of heart,
" It is not light — I sink with pain!
Take — take thy arrow back again. "
" No, " said the child, " it must not be;
That little dart was made for thee! "