TRUST not yon little winged boy,
Tho' beauteous he appears,
Each rosy smile he yields thee now
Thou wilt repay with tears.
Tho' bright with Heaven's celestial dyes,
His flutt'ring pinions play,
Too oft upon those downy wings
He wafts our peace away.
The quiver, o'er his shoulders flung,
Bears many a venom'd dart;
Ah! who could think that one so young
Could act a traitor's part?
From pleasure's brow the rose he steals
His tresses to adorn,
And wooes the cherub joy to lend
One leaf to hide its thorn.

So light his little sandall'd feet
Upon our portals tread,
We heed not that the urchin's nigh,
Until our heart is fled.
And then how vainly do we sue
And ask it back again!
Laughing, he holds it faster bound,
And links each golden chain.
Enthron'd on fleeting clouds he casts
A dimpled glance below,
And, glorying in his triumphs there,
Exulting mocks our woe.