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Pindar and Anacreon/Anacreon/Ode 45

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4290650Pindar and Anacreon — Ode 45Thomas BourneAnacreon

ODE XLV.—CUPID'S DARTS.

The rugged mate of love's soft queen
Was at the Lemnian forges seen;[1]
And while their fires intensely glow,
Was forging darts for Cupid's bow;
Sharp-pointed shafts of polish'd steel,
Which human hearts so keeny feel.
The gentle Venus, for her part,
In honey dipp'd each finish'd dart;
But cruel Cupid took them all,
And steep'd their barbed points in gall.
Returning from the battle rude,
The mighty Mars their business view'd;
And, leaning on his massy spear,[2]
"What use," he cried, with scornful sneer,
"These puny darts—these trifling toys—
Mere playthings—only fit for boys?"
"Hold!" Cupid cries, "here's one—try this,
You'll find it not so much amiss;
'Tis strongly made; and, for its size,
Its weight will cause you much surprise."
The god received it. Venus tried
To check her laugh, and turn'd aside;
But Mars, with sudden grief possess'd,[3]
Cried, groaning from his inmost breast,
"This little shaft gives wondrous pain;
Here—take it—take it back again."
"Nay, Mars, I give it with good will;
Pray keep the pretty plaything still."

  1. Lemnos was an island in the Ægean Sea, sacred to Vulcan, who, in the first book of the Iliad, gives an account of Jupiter's throwing him from heaven, and his fall on that island:—
    "Once in your cause I felt his matchless might,
    Hurl'd headlong downward from th' ethereal height;
    Toss'd all the day in rapid circles round;
    Nor till the sun descended touch'd the ground;
    Breathless I fell, in giddy motion lost;
    The Sinthians raised me on the Lemnian coast."
    Pope's Homer. 

  2. The proportions of the spear and arrow are finely contrasted. The tiny weapon makes the deeper wound.
  3. This sentiment is extremely beautiful; intimating that one cannot even touch the darts of Cupid with safety. Moschus concludes his first idyllium with a similar thought:—
    "Perhaps he'll say, 'Alas! no harm I know,
    Here, take my darts, my arrows, and my bow.'
    Ah! touch them not, fallacious is his aim,
    His darts, his arrows, all are tipp'd with flame."
    Fawkes.