The Kite, Canto III

But Cupid now, with anxious thoughts oppress'd, Ceas'd from his sport, and thus the Loves address'd: " Thus far have Jove and Fate propitious shone, " Our bird is finish'd, and one labour done! " Its safety is our next, our chiefest care, " While high it soars thro' pathless fields of air. " To guard it from the whirlwind's rapid power, " Or careful shield it from the treacherous shower: " Will Aeolus, implor'd, refuse his aid? " Or Jove deny, when Love and Dian plead?"

Scarce had he ended, but a Love withdrew, And on the wings of generous duty flew; Nor tarried till he reach'd the distant cells, Where the hoarse wind's imperious tyrant dwells. Here breath'd the South, that falls in genial showers, And gentle Zephyrs, crown'd with vernal flowers; There blew the East, that buttons breasts of beaux, And over Cloe's neck the tippet throws; Or with the North in dreadful union raves, Whirls o'er the main, and rolls the madding waves.

So (if great things may be compar'd with small, And troubled oceans to a jug of ale) When Tattle heats the drink that cheers her soul, And to her tooth prepares the groaning bowl; Her giddy hands the mingling fluids shake, And the white bubbles o'er the the surface break.

Unnumber'd virgins croud on every side, To various punishments condemn'd for pride. Belinda here her pins and powder tries, And the dear glass with fruitless labour eyes: Behind her chair the ruffling North attends, And ever discomposes as she mends: Raw vapours steam around the cruel fair, And winds that whistle nothing but despair. There Amoret cold piercing blasts pursue, And stain her nose with everlasting blue! Others, whose hoops unwary youths enflam'd, Here run—O L—d! so rumpled and asham'd!

Thro' these the Love (and not regardless) went, As onward to the monarch's throne he bent. The merchant here his ready aid implores, And asks a brighter gale from India's shores: There luckless Hero for a calm intreats, While her Leander tempts the fatal streights: And black-eyed Susan with impatience burns, To know how soon sweet William's ship returns: Whilst Aeol 'midst his guards, in awful state, Array'd in furr, like Russia's sovereign, sate; His stretch'd-out arm dispensing prosperous gales, To fame and conquest swells Britannia's sails.

Now all was hush'd, and Love his silence broke, And thus the wind-compelling king bespoke:

" If ever Dian's beauty reach'd thy cell, " If e'er thine eye beheld the sportive belle, " When the fair huntress, foremost of the train, " Grew to her steed, and scower'd along the plain: " If Aeol then in conscious rapture stray'd, " And round her neck, in glad confusion, play'd; " If then, with greedy joy, her lips he press'd, " Rumpled her tucker, and unveil'd her breast; " That hand, that did so oft thy bliss reprove, " Gives to thy charge, this day, the bird of Love: " Let Zephyrs then in active whispers breathe, " But every other wind be still as death! " This Fan be thine, and such in love its power, " Not Jove, in all his shapes, e'er boasted more. " When future passions shall thy breast invade, " Be this the present to the favourite maid; " Its sheet unfurl'd reveals a scene of gold, " And Love in ambush lies in every fold; " Soon as her hand these painted altars raise, " The nymph, not vainly, with my arrows plays; " This ever shall new thoughts of thee suggest, " And bear thee to her lips, and waft thee to her breast."

Thus he—and the grim monarch of the wind, In swelling bags a happy gale confin'd: With these well fraught, the Love returns to day, And back to Dian wings his liquid way.

Now with the bird she seeks the flowery meads, (Pancies and dazies spring where-e'er she treads;) The little Loves around, with decent pride, Hang on her hoop, and triumph by her side.

Lo! mid the ranks, superior, Cupid moves, And issues out his orders to the Loves; To these he gave the lanthorn, and the tail, But trebly charg'd 'em to supply the gale. A chosen cohort from the rest he drew, And to their care assign'd th' important clue. " Soon as the maid in equal poise sustains, " And on her arm my bird obliquely leans, " You forward haste—(this glove shall be the sign) " With judgment to contract, or give it line; " Do you with caution from the tail repair, " But yield the lanthorn with distinguish'd care! " Who diligent this day attends my bird, " His hand shall, next to Cupid's, hold the cord."

The glove was wav'd—the steady engine flew, Sprung into air, and lessen'd to the view; Proudly it sail'd, on crouding Zephyrs born, And every Love was pilot in his turn: Dian transported too beheld it fly, And to the taper grew her aking eye.

But Cupid timorous saw its height in air, And thought his bird too distant from his care. 'Twas he the messenger decreed to send, And would, by proxy, on his bird attend: What better than a billet-doux may prove The tender representative of Love? For, lo! the maid a gilded sheet imparts, That breath'd unfeigned flames, and real darts. Led by the clue, its rapid flight it steers, And to the bird his airy summons bears.

Ah! what avail its easy-waving wings? And length of tail, that boasts successive acts of kings! How frail our span of time! how fix'd its date! How soon the noblest labours yield to fate! Sleep-breaking care, gay pleasure, and pale woe, Meet in one stream! and in one channel flow! Virtue but like a shining vapour flies! And when it brightest blazes soonest dies! For Juno now, (with memorable spight!) Saw Cupid's bird, and sicken'd at the sight! Her past dishonour all her breast alarms; Venus preferr'd, and her own slighted charms! Now from her eye a gleam of envy breaks, And all the goddess to revenge awakes: " Shall Juno then, inglorious, quit the field? " And, unreveng'd, the palm of beauty yield? " If Ida's goddess boasts superior charms, " Why did my Jove prefer me to his arms? " But still her impious hands detain the prize; " Her power encreases! and her altars rise! " While I to partial fate unheard complain, " And call for vengeance to the gods in vain! " But swift thro' ether let my Iris glide, " And hang my keenest scissars by her side: " For, lo! where yonder glimmering ray appears, " Her urchin's bird its airy journey steers! " There all his joy on one small thread depends, " That cut—at once his hope and empire ends!"

She said: and Iris to her charge repairs, And reach'd the string—and clos'd the fatal sheers!

Thrice was the baleful raven heard to croak, And hollow groans from heavy echoes broke! Screech-owls around the dire event foreshew, And Cynthia from the mournful scene withdrew! Night, silent, bore it blazing thro' the air, And deck'd her mantle with the rising star.