The LVIII. Ode of Anacreon Imitated

As I wove with wanton care,
Fillets for a virgin's hair,
Culling for my fond design,
What the fields had fresh and fine:
CUPID,—and I mark'd him well,
Hid him in a cowslip bell;
While he plum'd a pointed dart,
Fated to inflame the heart.

Glowing with malicious joy,
Sudden I secur'd the boy;
And, regardless of his cries,
Bore the little frighted prize
Where the mighty goblet stood,
Teeming with a rosy flood.

Urchin, in my rage, I cry'd,
What avails thy saucy pride,
From thy busy vengeance free,
Triumph, now, belongs to me!
Thus—I drown thee in my cup;
Thus—in wine I drink thee up.

Fatal was the nectar'd draught
That to murder LOVE I quaff'd,
O'er my bosom's fond domains,
Now, the cruel tyrant reigns:
On my heart's most tender strings,
Striking with his wanton wings,
I'm for ever doom'd to prove
All the insolence of love.