The Third Ode of Anacreon

ONE midnight when the bear did stand A-level with Boötes’ hand, And, with their labour sore oppress'd, The race of men were lay'd to rest, Then to my doors, at unawares, Came Love, and tried to force the bars.

Who thus assails my doors, I cry'd? Who breaks my slumbers? Love reply'd, Open: a child alone is here! A little child!——you need not fear: Here through the moonless night I stray, And, drench'd in rain, have lost my way.

Then mov'd to pity by his plight, Too much in haste my lamp I light, And open: when a child I see, A little child, he seem'd to me; Who bore a quiver, and a bow; And wings did to his shoulders grow.

Within the hearth I bid him stand, Then chafe and cherish either hand Between my palms, and wring, with care, The trickling water from his hair.

Now come, said he, no longer chill, We'll bend this bow, and try our skill, And prove the string, how far its pow'r Remains unslacken'd by the show'r.

He bends his bow, and culls his quiver, And pierces, like a Breez, my liver: Then leaping, laughing, as he fled, Rejoice with me, my host, he said: My bow is found in every part, And you shall rue it at your heart.