Poems (Acton)/On a Picture of "Love's mislaid Quiver"

ON A PICTURE OF "LOVE'S MISLAID QUIVER." ——

Cupid! o'er thy brow why steals
 A shadow of bewilderment?
Why thus droops thy weapon dread,
 As if it mourned its power spent?

Is it pity that thou feel'st
 For some poor heart bow'd down by thee,
Whose fairest hopes thou hast but raised,
 Blighted and crushed at last to be?

Perhaps, though wanton be thy work,
 Some gush of feeling may return;
Compassion's light, so long put out,
 May be re-lit, yet strong to burn.

Oh! be it so! Young Love, we crave
 Thy clemency—thy justice now!
Give back the peace thy spells have crushed,
 To the once light, now aching brow!

Yet hold, proud boy! we fear thee not!
 We scorn thy arts of deathless might!
We can defy thee as thou stand'st
 Unarmed to enter on the fight!

We fly from thee unscathed at last,
 Ne'er thus to plead for peace again.
Oh! thou wouldst be a beauteous thing,
 Couldst thou but lose the power to pain!

And there are many happy hearts,
 'Tis pity thou shouldst sadden yet;
Thou dost but give a passing joy,
 That thy stern pangs they may forget.

For all thy arts and all thy wiles
 Seek but to train, as 'twere a flower,
Some spirit bright through long, long years,
 To blight it in a single hour.

Then seek'st thou pity that thy fate
 Hath doomed thee powerless to roam,
Never in guileless hearts again,
 To find and to betray a home?

No! Though thy loss to thee may give
 A moment's passing misery;
Thy shaft were better never found,
 Than there should rise another sigh!
R. A.