Classic Poem

Down from the realms of light above,
I, Queen of Heav'n and Queen of Love,
Am come in search to find my son;
The cruel brat away has run.
Last night as in my lap he lay,
With artful toying, wanton play,
He slyly took a golden dart,
And pierced my side and touched my heart;
Whether by chance or by design,
I cannot easily divine.
But when he saw the wound was giv'n,
In haste he took his flight from heav'n
(So conscious of the crime committed!),
Nor know I whither he has flitted.
And as it is the mother's fashion
To change her anger to compassion,
I've used my utmost skill to find
The dear disturber of my mind;
I've traversed o'er, with utmost care,
My own and every other sphere,
Where stars are fixed, or move around;
In heav'n he's nowhere to be found.

O, tell me then, ye mortal swains,
If this low world my son contains.
I know that he's a frequent guest
To every soft and tender breast.

Ye beauteous nymphs, I must despair
To find him out among the fair;
Though strong delight incites the boy
Among your golden curls to toy,
Yet he in vain for pity waits,
And finds no entrance at your gates;
For none can Cupid entertain
Whose breasts have fierceness and disdain.

To you, ye courteous men, I come;
Your tender bosoms are his home.
To you, who always on him smiled,
O, tell me where's my lovely child!
Whatever swain discovers this,
I'll give him a celestial kiss —
A kiss of love with much more sweets
Than mortal e'er in mortal meets.
Who e'er shall send him home again,
In heav'n shall in my kingdom reign.
I'll make him King of Love, and then
Of course he must be King of men.
All pow'r with me he shall partake;
I swear it by the Stygian lake.
O, tell me where's my lovely child!
Undone! Distraction turns me wild.
You're silent all, and none will tell
In which retreat he chose to dwell.
Perhaps incognito he roves
Through flow'ry fields and shady groves,
By purling streams and glassy springs;
Has plucked the feathers from his wings,
Thrown off his quiver to disguise
Himself from our pursuing eyes.
But I shall give you every mark
To know the little vagrant spark,
Although he uses every art
To hide himself and wound your heart,
Unseen, by cunning to prevail —
In vain he shall himself conceal.
Though like an infant he is seen,
In size, in shape, in limbs, in mien,
If I should tell, you'll think it odd,
In heav'n there's not an older god.
Yet he, just like a child, will play
A thousand tricks the livelong day.
But every jest and trick he shows,
Create in you ten thousand woes.
Here joy and anger shift their place,
Alternate in his various face;
The cheek where dimpled smile appears,
Next moment see it bathed in tears.
His locks are spangled o'er with gold
As full of curls as they can hold;
And as Dame Fortune is defined
With hair before and none behind,
So he the very selfsame way,
His bushy forehead does display,
But look behind — you cannot spy
One single lock to catch him by.
If on his lively face you gaze,
'Tis brisker than a dancing blaze;
And, though his front be smooth and fair,
A wanton boldness revels there.
His sparkling eyes with fire abound
Where smiles alluring bask around,
Through which he slyly looks askew,
To wound the heart he has in view.
His little words he lisps so well,
No music can his tongue excel.
That sweetness, which he gives his voice,
Makes every ear that hears rejoice.
His cheeks adorned with dimpled smiles,
The heart, which thinks them true, beguiles.
So flow'rs that hide the serpent bring
Th' unwary swain to feel the sting.
At first with looks demure and meek,
To lodge within your house he'll seek;
But once he's in, he lays aside
His humble mien and swells with pride.
Nor will he from your house depart
Without the key that locks your heart.
And when he thus has gained his ends,
He drives away your former friends,
Makes you foresake the old and true,
To love and entertain the new.
Where he usurps tyrannic sway,
The vassal Reason must obey.
He rules with such resistless force,
No pow'r on earth can stop his course;
For they who dare oppose his might
Are either slain or vanquished quite.

Now I have told you every sign
By which to know this child of mine.
If he concealed among you be,
I beg you'll bring him straight to me.
What? Silent all! Will none discover,
No swain betray the patent rover?
You hide, like fools, what ne'er was yet
Concealed by pow'r of mortal wit.
For through your eyes and tongue he'll fly,
And seen by every stander-by;
Though fast in pris'n, away he'll break,
And out or in your heart must ache.
Now, after this my declaration,
If any soul in all this nation
Shall dare to hide my fav'rite boy,
He shall not know one moment's joy.
But shall be like that senseless swain,
Who strove to hide a snake in vain;
For when it stung, he roared aloud
And showed his folly to the crowd.

But hold, I shall not yet return —
On earth I will a while sojourn,
To make a stricter search advance;
Perhaps I'll find him out by chance.