Eclogues

Virgil

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

  1. So may your swarms Cyrnean yew-trees shun,
  2. your kine with cytisus their udders swell,
  3. begin, if aught you have. The Muses made
  4. me too a singer; I too have sung; the swains
  5. call me a poet, but I believe them not:
  6. for naught of mine, or worthy Varius yet
  7. or Cinna deem I, but account myself
  8. a cackling goose among melodious swans.
MOERIS
  1. 'Twas in my thought to do so, Lycidas;
  2. even now was I revolving silently
  3. if this I could recall—no paltry song:
  4. “Come, Galatea, what pleasure is 't to play
  5. amid the waves? Here glows the Spring, here earth
  6. beside the streams pours forth a thousand flowers;
  7. here the white poplar bends above the cave,
  8. and the lithe vine weaves shadowy covert: come,
  9. leave the mad waves to beat upon the shore.”
LYCIDAS
  1. What of the strain I heard you singing once
  2. on a clear night alone? the notes I still
  3. remember, could I but recall the words.