Odes 3.18 (Martin): Faune, Nympharum

Faunus, lover of the shy
Nymphs who at thy coming fly,
Lightly o'er my borders tread,
And my fields in sunshine spread,
And, departing, leave me none
Of my yeanling flock undone!
So each closing year shall see
A kidling sacrificed to thee;
So shall bounteous bowls of wine,
Venus' comrades boon, be thine;
So shall perfumes manifold
Smoke around thine altar old!

When December's Nones come round
Then the cattle all do bound
O'er the grassy plains in play;
The village, too, makes holiday,
With the steer from labour free'd
Sporting blithely through the mead.
'Mongst the lambs, that fear him not,
Roves the wolf; each sylvan spot
Showers its woodland leaves for thee,
And the delver, mad with glee,
Joys with quick-redoubling feet
The detested ground to beat.