Nor can I (Goddesses!) hide in what things Allius sent meAid, forbear to declare what was the aidance he deigned:Neither shall fugitive Time from centuries ever obliviousVeil in the blinds of night friendship he lavisht on me.But will I say unto you what you shall say to the manyThousands in turn, and make paper, old crone, to proclaimAnd in his death become noted the more and the more,Nor let spider on high that weaves her delicate webbingPractise such labours o'er Allius' obsolete name. For that ye weet right well what care Amathúsia two-facedGave me, and how she dasht every hope to the ground,Whenas I burnt so hot as burn Trinacria's rocks or Mallia stream that feeds Œtéan Thermopylae;Nor did these saddened eyes to be dimmed by assiduous weepingCease, and my cheeks with showers ever in sadness be wet.E'en as from aëry heights of mountain springeth a springletLimpidest leaping forth from rocking felted with moss,Then having headlong rolled the prone-laid valley downpouring,Populous region amid wendeth his gradual way,