O DE XVI. — THE SATIRIST'S RECANTATION

PALINODIA AD TYNDARIDEM

Blest with a charming mother, yet,
Thou still more fascinating daughter!
Prythee my vile lampoons forget—
Give to the flames the libe!—let
The satire sink in Adria's water!

Not Cybele's most solemn rites,
Cymbals of brass and spells of magic;
Apollo's priest, 'mid Delphic flights;
Or Bacchanal, 'mid fierce delights,
Presents a scene more tragic

Than Anger, when it rules the soul.
Nor fire nor sword can then surmount her,
Nor the vex'd elements control,
Though Jove himself, from pole to pole.
Thundering rush down to the encounter.

Prometheus—forced to graft, of old,
Upon our stock a foreign scion,
Mix'd up—if we be truly told—
With some brute particles, our mould—
Anger he gathered from the lion.

Anger destroyed Thyestes' race,
O'erwhelmed his house in ruin thorough,
And many a lofty city's trace
Caused a proud foeman to efface,
Ploughing the site with hostile furrow.
Oh, be appeased! 'twas rage, in sooth,
First woke my song's satiric tenor;
In wild and unreflecting youth,
Anger inspired the deed uncouth;
But, pardon that foul misdemeanour.

Lady! I swear—my recreant lays
Henceforth to rectify and alter—
To change my tones from blame to praise,
Should your rekindling friendship raise
The spirits of a sad defaulter!