nor nets the stag: kind Daphnis loveth peace.The unshorn mountains to the stars up-tossvoices of gladness; ay, the very rocks,the very thickets, shout and sing, ‘A god,a god is he, Menalcas’ Be thou kind,propitious to thine own. Lo! altars four,twain to thee, Daphnis, and to Phoebus twainfor sacrifice, we build; and I for theetwo beakers yearly of fresh milk afoam,and of rich olive-oil two bowls, will set;and of the wine-god's bounty above all,if cold, before the hearth, or in the shadeat harvest-time, to glad the festal hour,from flasks of Ariusian grape will poursweet nectar. Therewithal at my behestshall Lyctian Aegon and Damoetas sing,and Alphesiboeus emulate in dancethe dancing Satyrs. This, thy service due,shalt thou lack never, both when we pay the Nymphsour yearly vows, and when with lustral rites