Scotish Descriptive Poems/Fowler's Poems/The God of Love

by William Fowler

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FROM

THE TRIUMPHS OF PETRARCH.

THE GOD OF LOVE.

—There then I saw four coursers fair,
 More white than any snaw,
A childish boy, and youngling raw,
 In fiery chair to draw:

Who, in his hand, his bow did bear,
 His arrows by his fide,
As neither helmet nor yet targe
 Their piercing shots can bide.

Above his shoulders, there were placed
 Two flying feathered wings,
Embroidered with ten thousand hues,
 All bare in other things.

And round about him there did stand,
 And round about his chair,
A number of such mortal men,
 That none can them declare.
Where of them some were prisoners
 By him in battle slain;
Some pierced by his piercing darts,
 And some by him lay slain—

 

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