Silence thou, thy savage cymbals, and the
Berecyntine horn;
In their train Self-love still follows, dully,
desperately blind,
And Vain-glory, towering upwards in its empty-
headed scorn,
And the Faith that keeps no secrets, with a
window in its mind.
XIX.
Mater sæva Cupidinum.
CUPID'S mother, cruel dame,
And Semele's Theban boy, and Licence bold,
Bid me kindle into flame
This heart, by waning passion now left cold.
O, the charms of Glycera,
That hue, more dazzling than the Parian stone!
O, that sweet tormenting play,
That too fair face, that blinds when look'd upon!
Venus comes in all her might,
Quits Cyprus for my heart, nor lets me tell
Of the Parthian, bold in flight,
Nor Scythian hordes, nor aught that breaks her spell.
Heap the grassy altar up,
Bring vervain, boys, and sacred frankincense;
Fill the sacrificial cup;
A victim's blood will soothe her vehemence.
