Fly Forum, fly Palestra, fly the Stadium, the Gymnase?Wretch, ah poor wretch, I'm doomed (my soul!) to mourn throughout my days,For what of form or figure is, which I failed to enjoy?I full-grown man, I blooming youth, I stripling, I a boy,I of Gymnasium erst the bloom, I too of oil the pride:Warm was my threshold, ever stood my gateways opening wide,My house was ever garlanded and hung with flowery freight,And couch to quit with rising sun, has ever been my fate:Now must I Cybele's she-slave, priestess of gods, be hight?I Maenad I, mere bit of self, I neutral barren wight?I spend my life-tide couch't beneath high-towering Phrygian peaks?I dwell on Ida's verdant slopes mottled with snowy streaks,Where homes the forest-haunting doe, where roams the wildling boar?Now, now I rue my deed foredone, now, now it irks me sore!"Whenas from out those roseate lips these accents rapid flew,Bore them to ears divine consigned a Nuncio true and new;Then Cybele her lions twain disjoining from their yoke