The laws reproved such foul desire,
Yet ’gainst religion didst thou wed;
Thy uncle caught love’s baleful fire,
And rushed to thy incestuous bed.
Thee shall the mighty mother’s wrath confound,
Because, through thee, before her shrine
No victims slain appease the powers divine.
Great virtue have hinds’ hides, and ivy wound
Upon a consecrated rod;
And youths, with virgins in a ring,
When high from earth with matchless force they spring,
Loose streams their hair, they celebrate that god
The Bacchanalian votaries own,
And waste in dance the sleepless night.
But thou, confiding in thy charms alone,
Forgett’st the moon that shines with more transcendent light.