And days as well there are, when the farm feasts,
The host reclining amid friends, his guests;
High flame the hissing logs, wine-cups are crowned,
And vows and healths to Gods and men go round;
On equal terms master with shepherds vies,
As archer, or as wrestler, for a prize.
Thus sprang a race, the wonder of the earth,
Suckled by Sabine mothers—as, at birth,
Their king by wild werewolf—twin strains with those,
Blending of Tuscan lords, high Lucumos;