Around on every side, with glowing pinions,
A circling band, as if from Jove's dominions,
All wooing came, and sought with wily art,
To steal away the youthful dreamer's heart.
One offered wealth--another spoke of fame,
And held a wreath to twine around his name.
One brought the pallet, and the magic brush,
By which creative art bids nature blush,
To see her rival--and the artful boy,
His story told--the all-entrancing joy
His skill could give,--but well the rogue concealed
The piercing thorns that flourish, unrevealed,
Along the artist's path--the poverty, the strife
Of study, and the weary waste of life--
All these, the drawback of his wily tale,
The little artist covered with a veil.
Young Damon listened, and his heart beat high--
But now a cunning archer gained his eye--
And stealing close, he whispered in his ear,
A glowing tale, so musical and dear,
That Damon vowed, like many a panting youth,
To Love, eternal constancy and truth!
But while the whisper from his bosom broke,
A fearful Image to his spirit spoke:
With frowning brow, and giant arm he stood,
Holding a glass, as if in threatening mood,
He waited but a moment for the sand,
To sweep the idle Dreamer from the land!
Young Damon started, and his dream was o'er,
But to his soul, the seeming vision bore