Classic Poem

On the death of a favourite Spaniel, maliciously poisoned.

How soon are blessings snatch'd away!
Our friends around us smile to-day,
But oft ere morning's early ray,
Salute the shore;
We see them stretch'd, pale, lifeless clay,
To please no more!

Poor Cupid! fondest friend I knew;
To me, how kind! how matchless true!
Whose frolics oft my laughter drew,
Tho' grief deprest,
By Death's envenom'd steel pierc'd through,
Has breath'd his last.

But had the traitor, void of art,
Produc'd the death denouncing dart,
And calmly aim'd it at his heart,
Still panting warm;
One piteous look had staid the smart,
And fix'd his arm.

Yet, think not, since his debt is paid,
I mourn the dear departed shade;
No — 'neath yon apple-tree he's laid,
To rise again;
Nor shall the youth or infant maid,
Escape his pain.

Each year, when Spring her reign resumes,
Then Cupid, from his bed of glooms,
Shall spread the scarlet-tinctur'd blooms,
In glorious view,
While bees, amid the rich perfumes,
Rove, murm'ring through,

When Autumn comes, serene and flow,
And ruddy Berries, clustering, glow,
When, with ripe fruit, the loaden'd bough,
Bends to the swaird,
Then Cupid swells the lov'liest show,
In J OHNNY'S yard.

And though in Apples now he rise,
Yet swift and keen his arrow flies;
For soon as e'er your ravish'd eyes
Gaze on his growth,
The blushing cheek and wond'rous size,
Wou'd bless your mouth.