ODE VII.—ON CUPID.[1]
Cupid once, with staff in hand,
(A slender hyacinthine wand,)
Slow walking with a tottering pace,
Defied me to the rapid race.
Away we flew o'er flood and fell,
O'er craggy rock and bushy dell,
Till hastening on with swiftest speed,
A serpent stung me; then indeed[2]
My heart forgot its wonted play;
I fainted—sunk—and died away.
The urchin laughed at my disgrace,
And while his pinions fann'd my face,
"My friend," he cried, "you clearly prove
That you are not a match fur Love!"
- ↑ As commentators are by no means agreed either as to the text or meaning of this ode, I have given it the turn which I conceived most agreeable to the genius and style of the author. By a pleasing allegory, he seems to intimate, that under whatever disguise love may appear, his power is equally certain and resistless.
- ↑ It is observed by Madame Dacier that his being stung by a serpent was a punishment for his insensibility and presumption.