Gallus lay dying? for neither did the slopesof Pindus or Parnassus stay you then,no, nor Aonian Aganippe. Himeven the laurels and the tamarisks wept;for him, outstretched beneath a lonely rock,wept pine-clad Maenalus, and the flinty cragsof cold Lycaeus. The sheep too stood around—of us they feel no shame, poet divine;nor of the flock be thou ashamed: even fairAdonis by the rivers fed his sheep—came shepherd too, and swine-herd footing slow,and, from the winter-acorns dripping-wetMenalcas. All with one accord exclaim:“From whence this love of thine?” Apollo came;“Gallus, art mad?” he cried, “thy bosom's careanother love is following.” TherewithalSilvanus came, with rural honours crowned;the flowering fennels and tall lilies shookbefore him. Yea, and our own eyes beheldpan, god of Arcady, with blood-red juice