Caelo supinas si tuleris manus
nascente luna, rustica Phidyle,
  si ture placaris et horna
    fruge Lares avidaque porca:

nec pestilentem sentiet Africum
fecunda vitis nec sterilem seges
  robiginem aut dulces alumni
    pomifero grave tempus anno.

nam quae nivali pascitur Algido
devota quercus inter et ilices
  aut crescit Albanis in herbis
    victima, pontificum securis

cervice tinguet: te nihil attinet
temptare multa caede bidentium
  parvos coronantem marino
    rore deos fragilique myrto.

immunis aram si tetigit manus,
non sumptuosa blandior hostia,
  mollivit aversos Penates
    farre pio et saliente mica.

If thou raise thy upturned palms to heaven each time
the moon is born anew, O Phidyle, my country lass,
if with incense, with grain of this year's harvest,
and with a greedy swine thou appease the Lares,

then thy teeming vine shall not feel the south
wind's ravages, nor thy crop the barren blight,
nor the young offspring of the flock the sickly
season when autumn yields its fruits.

For the destined victim that is grazing on
snowy Algidus amid the oaks and ilexes, or
is waxing fat on the Alban grass, shall dye
the axes of the priests with its neck's blood.

For thee there is no need to importune
the gods with much sacrifice of sheep,
if thou but crown their tiny images
with rosemary and crisp myrtle.

If pure hands have touched the altar,
though commended by no costly victim,
they appease estranged Penates even by
sacred meal mingled with crackling salt.