CUPID'S ARROW.
Famine and Plague bring joy to me,
For I love the harvest they yield;
And the fairest sight I ever see
Is the crimson battle-field.
For I love the harvest they yield;
And the fairest sight I ever see
Is the crimson battle-field.
Far and wide is my charnel range,
And rich carousal I keep;
Till back I come to my gibbet home,
To be merrily rock'd to sleep.
And rich carousal I keep;
Till back I come to my gibbet home,
To be merrily rock'd to sleep.
When the world shall be spread with tombless dead,
And darkness shroud all below;
What triumph and glee to the last will be,
For the sateless Carrion Crow!
And darkness shroud all below;
What triumph and glee to the last will be,
For the sateless Carrion Crow!
CUPID'S ARROW.
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.
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 straighten'd, I've bent, I've tried all, I declare;
I've perfum'd it with sweetest of sighs;
'Tis feather'd 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."
I've perfum'd it with sweetest of sighs;
'Tis feather'd 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."
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