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To Visiting Faunus, Carmina III. 18

Faunus, you heartthrob of the flighty Nymphs,       
saunter onto my mild land, my summery hills,
and traipse off having kissed each of my new lambs.

For you a soft-whiskered goatkid’s butchered
at year’s end, wine’s lush in the mixing-bowl
—that sweet Venus!—and a relic altar fumes.

During your harvest-time feast, cattle lope free
on drying, coppery meadows.  The decadent town
dawdles in warm pastures with their lolling cows.

The timberwolf shambles past tranquil ewes,
groves scatter gold, and the ditch-digger revels,
pounding his tyrant, the earth, in a clumsy dance.


Faune, Nympharum fugientum amator,
per meos finis et aprica rura
lenis incedas, abeasque parvis
aequus alumnis,

si tener pleno cadit haedus anno
larga nec desunt Veneris sodali
vina creterrae, vetus ara multo
fumat odore.

ludit herboso pecus omne campo,
cum tibi nonae redeunt Decembres;
festus in pratis vacat otioso
cum bove pagus;

inter audacis lupus errat agnos,
spargit agrestis tibi silva frondes,
gaudet invisam pepulisse fossor
ter pede terram.