first my Thalia stooped in sportive moodto Syracusan strains, nor blushed withinthe woods to house her. When I sought to tellof battles and of kings, the Cynthian godplucked at mine ear and warned me: “Tityrus,beseems a shepherd-wight to feed fat sheep,but sing a slender song.” Now, Varus, I—for lack there will not who would laud thy deeds,and treat of dolorous wars—will rather tuneto the slim oaten reed my silvan lay.I sing but as vouchsafed me; yet even thisif, if but one with ravished eyes should read,of thee, O Varus, shall our tamarisksand all the woodland ring; nor can there bea page more dear to Phoebus, than the pagewhere, foremost writ, the name of Varus stands.