See, narrow-brow'd Lycoris, how she glowsFor Cyrus! Cyrus turns away his headTo Pholoe's frown; but sooner gentle roesApulian wolves shall wed,Than Pholoe to so mean a conqueror strike:So Venus wills it; 'neath her brazen yokeShe loves to couple forms and minds unlike,All for a heartless joke.For me sweet Love had forged a milder spell;But Myrtale still kept me her fond slave,More stormy she than the tempestuous swellThat crests Calabria's wave.My prayers were scant, my offerings few,While witless wisdom fool'd my mind;But now I trim my sails anew,And trace the course I left behind.For lo! the sire of heaven on high,By whose fierce bolts the clouds are riven,Today through an unclouded skyHis thundering steeds and car has driven.