Eclogues

Virgil

Vergil. The Poems of Vergil. Rhoades, James, translator. London: Oxford University Press, 1921.

  1. upon your mountains,” sadly he replied—
  2. “Arcadians, that alone have skill to sing.
  3. O then how softly would my ashes rest,
  4. if of my love, one day, your flutes should tell!
  5. And would that I, of your own fellowship,
  6. or dresser of the ripening grape had been,
  7. or guardian of the flock! for surely then,
  8. let Phyllis, or Amyntas, or who else,
  9. bewitch me—what if swart Amyntas be?
  10. Dark is the violet, dark the hyacinth—
  11. among the willows, 'neath the limber vine,
  12. reclining would my love have lain with me,
  13. Phyllis plucked garlands, or Amyntas sung.
  14. Here are cool springs, soft mead and grove, Lycoris;
  15. here might our lives with time have worn away.
  16. But me mad love of the stern war-god holds
  17. armed amid weapons and opposing foes.
  18. Whilst thou—Ah! might I but believe it not!—
  19. alone without me, and from home afar,
  20. look'st upon Alpine snows and frozen Rhine.