Page:Virgil - The Georgics, Thomas Nevile, 1767.djvu/16

 4 You too, who make the rural throng your care,

Hither ye Fauns, and Dryad-nymphs repair!

And thou, whose massy trident the firm ground

Smote, and an horse rose neighing from the wound!

You, who haunt groves, whose snowy steers are seen

In Cœa, browsing on the braky green!

And you, Tegæan Pan! my suit approve,

If thy own Mænalus still claim thy love;

Guardian of flocks, ah! quit thy natal shades,

And leave awhile Lycæus' op'ning glades!

Giver of olives, Pallas, come! and thou,

Whose early youth first show'd the crooked plough!

Sylvanus, with thy cypress tree, attend!

Ye Gods, and Goddesses, the fields who tend!

Ye, who wild nature's genuine products feed!

Ye, who send copious show'rs on cultur'd seed!

But chief thou,  tho' 'tis yet unknown

What place in heav'n's high seats you'll call your own:

Whether, of lands protector, you supply

Fruits, and control the tempests of the sky,

Your mother's myrtle round your temples twin'd,

Hail'd with one voice great patron of mankind:

Or o'er the boundless seas you stretch your sway,

Sole God of all, who tempt the wat'ry way, Rever'd