Eclogues
Virgil
Vergil. The Poems of Vergil. Rhoades, James, translator. London: Oxford University Press, 1921.
- “It profiteth me naught, Amyntas mine,
- that in your very heart you spurn me not,
- if, while you hunt the boar, I guard the nets.”
- “Prithee, Iollas, for my birthday guest
- send me your Phyllis; when for the young crops
- I slay my heifer, you yourself shall come.”
- “I am all hers; she wept to see me go,
- and, lingering on the word, ‘farewell’ she said,
- ‘My beautiful Iollas, fare you well.’”
- “Fell as the wolf is to the folded flock,
- rain to ripe corn, Sirocco to the trees,
- the wrath of Amaryllis is to me.”
- “As moisture to the corn, to ewes with young
- lithe willow, as arbute to the yeanling kids,
- so sweet Amyntas, and none else, to me.”
- “My Muse, although she be but country-bred,
- is loved by Pollio: O Pierian Maids,
- pray you, a heifer for your reader feed!”
- “Pollio himself too doth new verses make:
- feed ye a bull now ripe to butt with horn,