Just so you know, this is about a "true" story. You can find the full account (though not in poetic form!) in Herodotus' The Histories!
Sing, O goddess, of the power
Of mighty Cyrus, full of valor.
He, who born among the mighty
Was guarded best by Aphrodite.
But a sweet, endearing babe
He was kidnapped by a knave.
Late in the silent, tranquil night
He with the little babe took flight.
He was to kill him out of sight
But in his heart, there was a fight.
Kill the child, so young, so dear?
He could not do it; that was clear.
But, alas, the job must be done
It must be finished now 'twas begun.
To a herdsman he took the child,
"Kill this babe, or I shan't be mild."
The herdsman, he took the little babe
To his cottage in the glade.
“My dear,” he told his loving wife,
“I have been told to take his life.”
The wife, she cried, “Let not it be,”
Let us raise him, you and me.”
"But dearest," so the herdsman said,
"I must give proof that he is dead."
"But you see," with saddest heart,
She told of their own babe's depart.
"He was stillborn," she mourned to say,
"But now we have a trick to play."
They took their own sweet, dearest babe,
And Cyrus' clothes to him gave.
"Now he looks of noble birth,
And they can put him in the earth."
The herdsman took the babe his son
And gave as proof his little one.
And so they raised the child, wee,
In their land so good and free.
And so Cyrus lived happily for many years,
'Til news of his existence reached hostile ears.
To Be Continued.......
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