'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.