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 emptyheaded scorn,And the Faith that keeps no secrets, with a window in its mind.Cupid's mother, cruel dame,And Semele's Theban boy, and Licence bold,Bid me kindle into flameThis 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 tellOf the Parthian, bold in flight,Nor Scythian hordes, nor aught that breaks her spell.