Poem by John Cunningham

Anacreon: Ode 58

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.

1. On Gold
2. A Man to My Mind
3. Melody
4. On a Certain Alderman
5. Kate of Aberdeen

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