Once to this Lemnian cave of flame,
The crested lord of battles came;
'Twas from the ranks of war he rushed,
His spear with many a life-drop blushed;
He saw the mystic darts, and smiled
Derision on the archer child.
'And dost thou smile?' said little Love;
'Take this dart, and thou mayest prove
That tho' they pass the breeze's flight,
My bolts are not so feathery light.'