Classic Poem

Chaste guardian of forest and of hill,
Who, thrice invoked, wilt thine ear incline,
And wives that travail wrest from mortal ill,
Maiden triform, divine,

Thine be this fir that o'er my dwelling grows,
Which my glad yearly sacrifice, a boar
Just ripe to charge and swerving rend his foes,
May sprinkle with his gore.