Pray you, gentle ladies, hearken To a tale of ancient time: Let no doubt your bosoms darken, Love is always in his prime. Young, and fair, and gladly singing As he did in days of yore, O'er the bright blue ocean winging To the sweet Idalian shore. Cupid is not dead, dear ladies! You may hear him even now At the early dawn of May-days, Singing underneath the bough. But beware, for he deceiveth; Tempt him not within the door, For the house that Cupid leaveth Shall not prosper evermore. Old Plotinus, now in glory, Hath bequeathed to us a story, Which perhaps may sound as new-- And 'tis neither long nor stupid-- Of a man who captured Cupid; If you please, I'll tell it you.
Wandering through the forests wide, Rising from Cephisus' side, Went a stout Athenian Archon, With a vacant listless eye, Till he heard a little cry, That made him stop and hearken. From a ruined temple near, Came a voice both soft and clear, Singing in some foreign tongue Sweeter strains than e'er were sung, Till the birds forbore their call, Wondering who the wight might be That in forest minstrelsy Overcame them, one and all. Slowly went the Archon on-- Peered above the broken stone-- There, within the waste enclosure, On a bed of myrtle wild, Lay a little yearling child, Who smiled and sung, and sung and smiled, In innocent composure. From his chubby shoulders, wings Sprouted outwards; tender things, Hardly fledged, as are the callow Nestlings of the household swallow. And the Archon, gazing there, Thought that never child so fair Had he looked on, anywhere.
"Whence art thou, my pretty boy? But the infant nought replied, Turning to the other side With an unknown song of joy. "Can it be," the Archon pondered, "That some little god hath wandered From his home within the skies, To a dreary spot like this? Ever welcome to the wise Such a rare occasion is; So within my cloak I'll fold him!" Little trouble was to hold him-- Calm and still the infant lay, Smiling ever, singing ever, Till the Archon crossed the river Just above Piræus' bay.
"In what place to lodge my darling!" Mused the much-bewildered sage, "He might dwell within a cage Safe as any finch or starling; But an infant god to hold, All the wires should be of gold. Ha! I see--the very thing! This will give him room to play, Yet so far restrain his wing That he cannot fly away. Therefore come, my pretty pet, I'll put thee in my Cabinet!"