O wont the flying Nymphs to woo,Good Faunus, through my sunny farmPass gently, gently pass, nor doMy younglings harm.Each year, thou know'st, a kid must dieFor thee; nor lacks the wine's full streamTo Venus' mate, the bowl; and highThe altars steam.Sure as December's Nones appear,All o'er the grass the cattle play;The village, with the lazy steer,Keeps holyday.Wolves rove among the fearless sheep;The woods for thee their foliage strow;The delver loves on earth to leap,His ancient foe.