Eclogues
Virgil
Vergil. The Poems of Vergil. Rhoades, James, translator. London: Oxford University Press, 1921.
- the shepherd Corydon with love was fired
- for fair Alexis, his own master's joy:
- no room for hope had he, yet, none the less,
- the thick-leaved shadowy-soaring beech-tree grove
- still would he haunt, and there alone, as thus,
- to woods and hills pour forth his artless strains.
- “Cruel Alexis, heed you naught my songs?
- Have you no pity? you'll drive me to my death.
- Now even the cattle court the cooling shade
- and the green lizard hides him in the thorn:
- now for tired mowers, with the fierce heat spent,
- pounds Thestilis her mess of savoury herbs,
- wild thyme and garlic. I, with none beside,
- save hoarse cicalas shrilling through the brake,
- still track your footprints 'neath the broiling sun.
- Better have borne the petulant proud disdain
- of Amaryllis, or Menalcas wooed,
- albeit he was so dark, and you so fair!
- Trust not too much to colour, beauteous boy;
- white privets fall, dark hyacinths are culled.