POE TRY.
FROM PROPERTIUS (II., 12). WHO first did draw young Love a child What skill had he ! He knew how wild Are lovers' ways, and what a rout Their small desires do bring about. Wings, too, lie added cunningly, And made the little god to fly, Knowing the fate we lovers moan This way and that at random blown. Wisely Love's arrows, wisely, too, The quiver at his back, he drew, Who wounds before we know him nigh, A wound that's past all surgery.
Me this same child with all his stings Doth haunt; but sure he's lost his wings, For he'll not fly me, nor will rest From the invasion of my breast. Hence, godling ! in so seared a heart What joy to lodge ? Feather your dart On some fresh foeman more your peer, 'Tis but my shade you harass here ; Which shade destroyed, whom will you find To praise my lady to your mind,— Her little band, her eyes like sloes, And how she delicately goes ? C. T.
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