Cloe Hunting

BEHIND her neck her comely tresses tied,
Her ivory quiver graceful by her side,
A-hunting Cloe went : she lost her way,
And through the woods uncertain chanc'd to stray.
Apollo passing by beheld the maid ;
And, Sister dear, bright Cynthia, turn, he said :
The hunted hind lies close in yonder brake.
Loud Cupid laugh'd, to see the god's mistake ;
And laughing cried, Learn better, great divine,
To know thy kindred, and to honour mine.
Rightly advis'd, far hence thy sister seek,
Or on Meander's bank, or Latmus' peak.
But in this nymph, my friend, my sister know :
She draws my arrows, and she bends my bow :
Fair Thames she haunts, and every neighb'ring grove,
Sacred to soft recess, and gentle love.
Go, with thy Cynthia, hurl the pointed spear
At the rough boar, or chase the flying deer :
I and my Cloe take nobler aim :
At human hearts we fling, nor ever miss the game.