Old Tiber, hurl'd in tumult backFrom mingling with the Etruscan main,Has threaten'd Numa's court with wrackAnd Vesta's fane.Roused by his Ilia's plaintive woes,He vows revenge for guiltless blood,And, spite of Jove, his banks o'erflows,Uxorious flood.Yes, Fame shall tell of civic steelThat better Persian lives had spilt,To youths, whose minish'd numbers feelTheir parents' guilt.What god shall Rome invoke to stayHer fall? Can suppliance overbearThe ear of Vesta, turn'd awayFrom chant and prayer?Who comes, commission'd to atoneFor crime like ours? at length appear,A cloud round thy bright shoulders thrown,Apollo seer!