Poems (Cook)/Cupid's Arrow

by Eliza Cook

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.

"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."

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.