From Vergil's Tenth Eclogue
[VERSES 1-26.]
Melodious Arethusa, o'er my verseShed thou once more the spirit of thy stream:Who denies verse to Gallus? So, when thouGlidest beneath the green and purple gleamOf Syracusan waters, mayst thou flowUnmingled with the bitter Doric dew!Begin, and, whilst the goats are browsing nowThe soft leaves, in our way let us pursueThe melancholy loves of Gallus. List!We sing not to the dead: the wild woods knewHis sufferings, and their echoes...Young Naiads,...in what far woodlands wildWandered ye when unworthy love possessedYour Gallus? Not where Pindus is up-piled,Nor where Parnassus' sacred mount, nor whereAonian Aganippe expands...The laurels and the myrtle-copses dim.The pine-encircled mountain, Maenalus,The cold crags of Lycaeus, weep for him;And Sylvan, crowned with rustic coronals,Came shaking in his speed the budding wandsAnd heavy lilies which he bore: we knewPan the Arcadian.
...
'What madness is this, Gallus? Thy heart's careWith willing steps pursues another there.'
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