Eclogues
Virgil
Vergil. The Poems of Vergil. Rhoades, James, translator. London: Oxford University Press, 1921.
- your bride along; now, bridegroom, scatter nuts:
- forsaking Oeta mounts the evening star!
- O worthy of thy mate, while all men else
- thou scornest, and with loathing dost behold
- my shepherd's pipe, my goats, my shaggy brow,
- and untrimmed beard, nor deem'st that any god
- for mortal doings hath regard or care.
- Once with your mother, in our orchard-garth,
- a little maid I saw you—I your guide—
- plucking the dewy apples. My twelfth year
- I scarce had entered, and could barely reach
- the brittle boughs. I looked, and I was lost;
- a sudden frenzy swept my wits away.
- Now know I what Love is: 'mid savage rocks
- tmaros or Rhodope brought forth the boy,
- or Garamantes in earth's utmost bounds—
- no kin of ours, nor of our blood begot.