When Teucer fled before his father's frownFrom Salamis, they say his temples deepHe dipp'd in wine, then wreath'd with poplar crown,And bade his comrades lay their grief to sleep:“Where Fortune bears us, than my sire more kind,There let us go, my own, my gallant crew.'Tis Teucer leads, 'tis Teucer breathes the wind;No more despair; Apollo's word is true.Another Salamis in kindlier airShall yet arise. Hearts, that have borne with meWorse buffets! drown today in wine your care;To-morrow we recross the wide, wide sea!”Lydia, by all above,Why bear so hard on Sybaris, to ruin him with love?What change has made him shunThe playing-ground, who once so well could bear the dust and sun?Why does he never sitOn horseback in his company, nor with uneven bitHis Gallic courser tame?Why dreads he yellow Tiber, as 'twould sully that fair frame?