Aphra Behn (1640–1689)

THE GROVE was gloomy all around,

Murmuring the stream did pass,

Where fond Astraea laid her down

Upon a bed of grass;

I slept and saw a piteous sight,

Cupid a-weeping lay,

Till both his little stars of light

Had wept themselves away.

Methought I asked him why he cried;

My pity led me on,—

All sighing the sad boy replied,

‘Alas! I am undone!

As I beneath yon myrtles lay,

Down by Diana’s springs,

Amyntas stole my bow away,

And pinioned both my wings.’

‘Alas!’ I cried, ‘’twas then thy darts

Wherewith he wounded me?

Thou mighty deity of hearts,

He stole his power from thee?

Revenge thee, if a god thou be,

Upon the amorous swain,

I’ll set thy wings at liberty,

And thou shalt fly again;

And, for this service on my part,

All I demand of thee,

Is, wound Amyntas’ cruel heart,

And make him die for me.’

His silken fetters I untied,

And those gay wings displayed,

Which gently fanned, he mounting cried,

‘Farewell, fond easy maid!’

At this I blushed, and angry grew

I should a god believe,

And waking found my dream too true,

For I was still a slave.