The fire of youth, good friend, you need, of course,
Into the hostile ranks to break,
Or, when the loveliest damsels hang by force,
With amorous clinging, from your neck,
When swift your wingèd steps advance
To where the racer’s prize invites you,
Or, after hours of wheeling dance,
The nightly deep carouse invites you.
But to awake the well-known lyre
With graceful touch that tempers fire,