Soon forth from a curious old chest
A bundle of arrows she drew;
The gift of a warrior, their guest,
And ting'd with a poisonous glue!
With a bow, that the chief us'd alone,
Which her arm could not easily draw:
This bow she preferr'd to her own,
In these moments of hope and of awe.
And now they both haste from their cot,
The stripling his mother before,
And keenly he shew'd her the spot,
As the bow he exultingly bore.
More cautious as now they advance,
The boy, to his eager desire,
Espied, with a love-guided glance,
The half-shrouded head of his sire.
He leapt, with a rapturous joy;
But, marking the Lion below,
In silence the spirited boy
Made ready the powerful bow.
From his mother an arrow he caught,
In hope's youthful extacy hot;
And softly said, quick as his thought,
"O grant to my hand the first shot."
His entreaty she could not refuse,
Yet hardly had time to consent;
Impatient his aim not to lose,
The stripling the bow would have bent.
He labour'd to bend it in vain;
It surpass'd all the strength of his years:
The brave boy full of anguish and pain,
Let it fall to the ground with his tears.
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