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.