The LVIII. ODE of ANACREON imitated

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.