Bkiii:Xviii To Faunus

Faunus, the lover of Nymphs who are fleeing, may you pass gently over my boundaries, my sunny fields, and, as you go by, be kind to all my new-born, if at the end of the year a tender kid is sacrificed to you: if the full bowls of wine, aren’t lacking, friend of Venus: the old altar smoking with incense. All the flock gambols over the grassy plain, when the fifth of December returns for you: the festive village empties into the fields, and the idle herd: the wolf wanders among the audacious lambs: for you the woods, wildly, scatter their leaves: the ditcher delights in striking the soil he hates, in triple time.