Whose boughs, a pendant canopy, o’ershade
Those hollow rocks, whence, murmuring many a tale,
Thy chiming waters pour upon the vale.
TO FAUNUS.
BOOK III., ODE XVIII.
Faunus! who lovest the flying nymphs to chase,
Oh, let thy steps with genial influence tread
My sunny fields, and be thy fostering grace
Soft on my nursling groves and borders shed;
If, at the mellow closing of the year,