'Twas wrath that laid Thyestes low;'Tis wrath that oft destruction callsOn cities, and invites the foeTo drive his plough o'er ruin'd walls.Then calm your spirit; I can tellHow once, when youth in all my veinsWas glowing, blind with rage, I fellOn friend and foe in ribald strains.Come, let me change my sour for sweet,And smile complacent as before:Hear me my palinode repeat,And give me back your heart once more.The pleasures of LucretilisTempt Faunus from his Grecian seat;He keeps my little goats in blissApart from wind, and rain, and heat.In safety rambling o'er the swardFor arbutes and for thyme they peer,The ladies of the unfragrant lord,Nor vipers, green with venom, fear,