How am I to punish thee,
For the wrong thou'st done to me
Silly swallow, prating thing--
Shall I clip that wheeling wing?
Or, as Tereus did, of old,[2]
(So the fabled tale is told,)
Shall I tear that tongue away,
Tongue that uttered such a lay?
Ah, how thoughtless hast thou been!
Long before the dawn was seen,
When a dream came o'er my mind,
Picturing her I worship, kind,
Just when I was nearly blest,
Loud thy matins broke my rest!
[1] This ode is addressed to a swallow.
[2] Modern poetry has conferred the name of Philomel upon the nightingale;
but many respectable authorities among the ancients assigned this
metamorphose to Progne, and made Philomel the swallow, as Anacreon does
here.