A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace With the Original Text, and Critical Notes collected from his best Latin and French Commentators. By the Revd Mr. Philip Francis...The third edition |
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Ode XVIII. To Faunus.
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A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace | ||
289
Ode XVIII. To Faunus.
Faunus, who with eager Flame
Chase the Nymphs thy flying Game,
If a tender Kid distain,
Each returning Year, thy Fane,
If with Wine we raise the Soul
(Social Venus loves the Bowl)
If thy dedicated Shrine
Smoke with Odours,—Breath divine,
Gently traverse o'er my Bounds,
Gently through my sunny Grounds,
Gracious to my fleecy Breed,
Sporting o'er the flowery Mead.
Chase the Nymphs thy flying Game,
If a tender Kid distain,
Each returning Year, thy Fane,
If with Wine we raise the Soul
(Social Venus loves the Bowl)
If thy dedicated Shrine
Smoke with Odours,—Breath divine,
Gently traverse o'er my Bounds,
Gently through my sunny Grounds,
Gracious to my fleecy Breed,
Sporting o'er the flowery Mead.
See my Flocks in sportive Vein
Frisk it o'er the verdant Plain,
When through Winter's Gloom thy Day
Festal shines, the Peasants play
On the grassy-matted Soil,
Round their Oxen, free from Toil.
See the Wolf forgets his Prey,
With my daring Lambs to play;
See the Forest's bending Head
At thy Feet its Honours shed,
While with joyful Foot the Swain
Beats the Glebe he plow'd with Pain.
Frisk it o'er the verdant Plain,
When through Winter's Gloom thy Day
Festal shines, the Peasants play
On the grassy-matted Soil,
Round their Oxen, free from Toil.
291
With my daring Lambs to play;
See the Forest's bending Head
At thy Feet its Honours shed,
While with joyful Foot the Swain
Beats the Glebe he plow'd with Pain.
A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace | ||