Well I don’t begrudge you: rather I wonder at it: there’s such. embroiders hyacinths with yellow marigolds. you study the woodland Muse, on slender shepherd’s pipe. when Amaryllis was here, and Galatea had left me. He will take on divine life, and he will see gods. Or let all be ocean deep. The goats will come home themselves, their udders swollen. and the inspiration to tell how great your deeds will be: Thracian Orpheus and Linus will not overcome me in song. These ten poems were written between 42 and 39 B.C.E. and they both count the flock twice a day, and one the kids. the myrtle to lovely Venus, his own laurel to Phoebus: Phyllis loves the hazels: and while Phyllis loves them. Pan first taught the joining of many reeds with wax. All ask: ‘Where is this love of yours from?’ Apollo came: ‘Gallus what madness is this?’ he said, ‘Lycoris your lover, follows another through the snows and the rough camps.’. I wouldn’t dare bet on anything from the herd with you: I’ve a father at home indeed: and a harsh stepmother. I’ll sing the Muse of Damon and Alphesiboeus. Subtituli adsunt! lilies in heaped baskets: the bright Naiad picks, for you. The wolf meditates no ambush for the flock. Fortunate old man, here you’ll find the cooling shade. Buy Virgil: Eclogues (Cambridge Greek and Latin Classics) by Virgil, Vergil, Robert Coleman (ISBN: 9780521291071) from Amazon's Book Store. with the additional restriction that you offer Perseus any modifications you make. instead of sweet violets and bright narcissi. A large cup of milk, and these cakes, are all you can expect. ("some say that 'Tityros' is a 'reed"') does not seem to have been related to Eclogue 1.2's avena.10 Their rela- Hear the songs you desire: she’ll have another present, Then you might have seen Fauns and wild creatures dance. The field is dry: the parched grass is dying in the arid air. this tale to your hills, only Arcadians are skilled in song. O, if one day your flutes should tell of my love, and if only I’d been one of you, the guardian of one. Half our journey lies beyond: since Bianor’s tomb, is coming in sight: here where the labourers. The ash is the loveliest in the woods, the pine-tree in gardens. run away from here, a cold snake hides in the grass. Attacking him, they tied him with bonds from his own wreaths. complain, and call, still, to the gods, in the hour of my death. The same love’s the ruin of the herd and its master. in the woods, often call ghosts from the depths of the grave. seized the altars with quivering flames. Rhodope and Ismarus are not so astounded by Orpheus. Only let it be heard by - Palaemon, if you like, who’s coming, see. and the bean flower with the smiling acanthus. No, let me rather seem to you bitterer than Sardinian grass. Oh lovely boy, don’t trust too much to your bloom: the white privet falls, the dark hyacinths are taken. Table of contents. Now a mad passion for the cruel god of war keeps me armed. the woodland ash would yield to you, and the garden pine. Still, I’ll sing to you in turn, in whatever way I can, and exalt. Bacchus begrudges his vines’ shade to the hills: but all the groves will be green when my Phyllis comes. always, and door posts ever black with soot: here we care as much for the freezing Northern gale. so I used to compare the great with the small. from circling the glades of Parthenius with the hounds. These rites will be yours, forever, when we purify our fields. Send Phyllis to me: it’s my birthday Iollas: When I sacrifice a calf for the harvest, come yourself. groves: I joy in shooting Cydonian arrows from Parthian bows. as it has of late, our hands will squeeze teats in vain. to Phoebus than that which the name of Varus ordains. I’d rather, for sure. Even Pan if he competed with me, with Arcady as Judge. Eclogues. O Alexis, Corydin hunts you: each is led by his passion. if we drink the Hebrus in the heart of winter. Since the Fates took you. The breath of the rising south wind does not delight me, as much, nor the shore struck by the waves, nor those streams. And what was the great occasion for you setting eyes on Rome? The fierce lioness hunts the wolf, the wolf hunts the goat. in the deep, to gradually take on the form of things: and then the earth is awed by the new sun shining. the hope of the flock, alas, on the bare stones. I entrust to you: these tokens make Daphnis mine. with these: he cares nothing for gods or songs. Then I’ll wander with the Nymphs over Maenalus, or hunt fierce wild boar. Menalcas came, wet from soaking the winter acorns. and wild thyme, for the reapers weary with the fierce heat. his snowy side pillowed on sweet hyacinths. let such love seize him, and I not care to heal him. Circe changed Ulysses’s men with magic songs. Griffins and horses will mate, and in the following age. Everyday low prices and free delivery on eligible orders. And what of those songs of yours I secretly heard the other day. his mother cried out the cruelty of stars and gods. This book of poems, written between 42 en 39 BC, was a bestseller in ancient Rome, and still holds a fascination today. when the sea was calm without breeze: if the mirror never lies. both Arcadians, both ready to be matched in song. and you’d not regret chafing your lips with the reed. Subsequently, after numerous reprints and, particularly, after the bimillenary editions of Sabbatini and Mackail, it became clear that much revision was desirable, and substantial corrections and … will often lull you into sleep with the low buzzing: there, under the high cliff, the woodsman sings to the breeze: while the loud wood-pigeons, and the doves. and to entwine the pliant spears with soft leaves. to see if I’m able to recall it: it’s no mean song. in the furrows we sowed with fat grains of barley: thistles and thorns with sharp spikes grow. (the time is near), great son of Jupiter! Damoetas and Lyctian Aegon will sing to me. If you’d not have briny Doris mix her stream. Translated by A. S. Kline © Copyright 2001 All Rights Reserved. both in exile wandering each other’s frontiers. And while I track your footprints, the trees echo. Not only was the boy himself fit to be sung of. I’ll wager this cow (don’t be so reluctant, twice a day. changes, storing new additions in a versioning system. Translations 1 May 2016 Various Eclogues, Georgics, and Aeneid The Perseus Project hosts English as well as Latin versions of Virgil's major works. From that time on it’s Corydon, Corydon with us. This taught me: ‘Corydon burned for lovely Alexis,’. There, Meliboeus, I saw that youth for whom. Violets. And when I shouted: ‘Tityrus, where’s he rushing off to? Here junipers, and bristling chestnuts, stand. (1): Cross-references in general dictionaries to this page the sweetness, or tastes the bitterness, of love. on a Sicilian shepherds pipe. To these he adds Hylas, abandoned beside the spring, called by the sailors till all the shore cried: ‘Hylas, Hylas!’. No strange plants will tempt your pregnant ewes. its willow blossoms sipped by Hybla’s bees. to the spindle, with the power of inexorable destiny. Each year I’ll set up dual cups foaming with fresh milk. What use is it to me, Amyntas, that you don’t scorn me inwardly. I have found gifts for my Love: for I have marked for myself. deer will come to the drinking bowl with the hounds. if it’s cold, before the fire, if it’s harvest, in the shade. Daphnis taught men to yoke Armenian tigers, to chariots, and to lead the Bacchic dance. Have you no pity on me? Galatea, Nereus’s child, sweeter than Hybla’s thyme. your Daphnis to the stars: Daphnis also loved me. Bucolics, Aeneid, and Georgics Of Vergil. Here is a hearth, and soaked pine torches, here a good fire. cried: ‘Here, take these reeds, the Muses give them to you. Let’s rise, the shade’s often harmful to singers. no god honours at his banquets, no goddess in her bed. Moeris himself gave me these herbs and poisons. your bees flee Corsican yews, and your cows browse clover. Only Amyntas can compete with you among our hills. begin: let’s speak of Gallus’s anxious love. his master’s delight: and knew not whether to hope. Together with me in the woods you’ll rival Pan in song. Nymphs of Libethra, whom I love, either grant me a song, such as you gave my Codrus (he makes verses. he flung these artless words to the woods and hills. Liberty, that gazed on me, though late, in my idleness. It chanced that Daphnis was sitting under a rustling oak. We use cookies for social media and essential site functions. and sees the stars and clouds under his feet. Everyday low prices and free delivery on eligible orders. with its wandering shoots, has spread about the cave. how one of the Muses led him to the Aonian hills. Arethusa, Sicilian Muse, allow me this last labour: yet such as Lycoris herself may read. at whose match the cattle marvelled, forgetting to graze. Why not at least choose to start weaving what you need. Ah, Corydon, Corydon, what madness has snared you? ‘Bright Daphnis marvels at Heaven’s unfamiliar threshold. confessed as much to me: but said he couldn’t pay. Full search Though modelled on the Greek Idylls of Theocritus, they are innovative in their use of the form for social commentary, contrasting the Arcadian ideal with the troubled society of late republican Rome.. Here is rosy spring, here, by the streams, earth scatters. blends narcissi with fragrant fennel flowers: then, mixing them with spurge laurel and more sweet herbs. ‘Let such ages roll on’ the Fates said, in harmony. The opening lines of the Eclogues in the 5th-century Vergilius Romanus The Eclogues (Latin: Eclogae or Bucolica) are a collection of ten pastoral poems by the Roman poet Virgil. Daphnis’s bow and flute: because you grieved, Menalcas. their fruits lie here and there under each tree: now all things smile: but if lovely Alexis left. Though modelled on the Greek Idylls of Theocritus, they are innovative in their use of the form for social commentary, contrasting the Arcadian ideal with the troubled society of late republican Rome. Pan, and the shepherds, and the Dryad girls. she attacked the Ithacan ships and, oh, in the deep abyss. TYRTAEUS IN VIRGIL'S FIRST ECLOGUE* - Volume 66 Issue 2 - Boris Kayachev Skip to main content We use cookies to distinguish you from other users and to provide you with a better experience on our websites. Ethics and theology in Virgil's Eclogues. picking dew-wet apples (I was guide to you both). Daphnis. The farmers will pay their dues each year, this way, and you too will oblige them to fulfil their vows.’. The year beyond my eleventh had just greeted me. do you no harm! ("Agamemnon", "Hom. there was never a hope of freedom, or thought of saving. of Prometheus’s theft and the Caucasian birds. picked from a tree in the wood: tomorrow I’ll send more. and the handles are twined around with sweet acanthus. You’ll find another Alexis, if this lad scorns you.’. till Vesper commands the flocks to be gathered and counted. a handsome one, Menalcas, with even bands of bronze. too much: even now the ram is drying his fleece. and my poor cottage, its roof thatched with turf. I’ve never yet put my lips to them, but kept them stored. And they’re wide enough for you: though bare stone. and the sheep are robbed of vigour, the lambs of milk. Here, as always, on your neighbour’s boundary, the hedge. No frosts will deter me. Moisture’s sweet for the wheat, the strawberry tree for the kids. Thestylis has long been begging to take them from me: and she shall, since my gifts seem worthless to you. of bitter bark, then lifts them from the soil as high alders. How a fatal madness took me! Close off the ditches now, boys: the meadows have drunk enough. Then when the strength of age has made you a man, the merchant himself will quit the sea, nor will the pine ship. in the middle of weapons and hostile forces: you far from your homeland ( would it were not for me, to credit such tales) ah! for you, and two bowls of rich olive oil. Still, I neglected my work for their sport. We know what you were doing, with the goats looking startled. under Cancer, while dying bark withers on tall elms. I drive my goats, sadly: this one, Tityrus, I can barely lead. Delia, a bristling boar’s head is yours, from young Micon. she comes to the milking, and she’s suckling two calves): now you tell me what stake you’ll match it with. and rain falls from the clouds borne on high: and woods first begin to rise, and here and there. Madman! Who’d sprinkle the ground. Where are you heading, Moeris? But you take this crook that, often as he asked it, Antigenes. why not sit here amongst this mix of elms and hazels? His Aeneid is an epic on the theme of Rome's origins. and, most important, to gladden the feast with wine. and the seas leave the fish naked on shore. So he went continually among the dense beech-trees. the streams with shade (such Daphnis commands). if you’ve any love for your Corydon, come to me. I’ve allowed. O if you’d only live with me in the lowly countryside. I’ll try these verses I carved, the other day, in the bark. Buy Eclogues (Latin Texts) New edition by Virgil, Williams, R. D. (ISBN: 9781853995088) from Amazon's Book Store. What could I do? Rascal, didn’t I see you making off with Damon’s goat. ‘Daphnis, why are you watching the ancient star signs rising? Wasn’t it you, unskilled one, who used to murder a wretched tune. You singing to him? ‘O Galatea, come: what fun can there be in the waves? I have no fear of Daphnis, with you as judge. in the cities she’s founded: let me delight in woods above all. to Neaera, and is afraid she might prefer me to him. an Orpheus in the woods, an Arion among the dolphins. Amaryllis, I wondered why you called on the gods so mournfully. Virgil Eclogue 1.1-2: A Literary Programme? Tityrus, turn the grazing goats back from the stream: I’ll wash them all in the spring myself when the time is right. with yours, when you glide beneath Sicilian waves. soft chestnuts, and a wealth of firm cheeses: and now the distant cottage roofs show smoke. We’ve fashioned you from marble, for the meantime: but you’ll be gold, if the flock is swelled by breeding. P. VERGILI MARONIS ECLOGA PRIMA Meliboeus. whiter than the swan, more lovely to me than pale ivy. and in the centre he put Orpheus and the woods that followed him: I’ve never yet put my lips to them, but kept them stored: if you look at the cow, there’s no way you’d praise the cups. Divine poet, your song to me is like sleep. Now the last age of the Cumaean prophecy begins: the great roll-call of the centuries is born anew: now Virgin Justice returns, and Saturn’s reign: now a new race descends from the heavens above. endless trouble everywhere over all the countryside. Word Count: 2731. Tityre, tu patulae recubans sub tegmine fagi silvestrem tenui Musam meditaris avena; Your cattle will come through the fields to drink here themselves. VIRGIL was a Latin poet who flourished in Rome in the C1st B.C. Through him my cattle roam as you see, and I. allow what I wish to be played by my rural reed. his veins swollen as ever with yesterday’s wine: nearby lay the garlands fallen just now from his head. the juniper’s shade is harmful, and shade hurts the harvest. It’s not for me to settle so great a contest between you: you and he both deserve the calf – and he who fears. Pan cares for the sheep, and the sheep’s master. the very springs and orchards were calling out for you. your honour, name, and praise will always remain. Scatter grain, and burn the fragile bay with pitch. Speak, Muses. we might go along singing (the road will be less tedious): I’ll carry your burden, so we can go on singing. There he was first to reply to my request: ‘Slave, go feed you cattle as before: rear your bulls.’. with flowering herbs or clothe the springs with green shade? as Damon, leaning on his smooth olive-staff, began. Like the rest of Vergil's works, the Eclogues are composed in dactylic hexameter.. Your current position in the text is marked in blue. You deflect my passion with endless excuses. Often fruitless darnel, and barren oats, spring up. ‘Tityrus feed my goats till I return (the road is short). Wedded to a worthy man, while you despise the rest. I’ll pour fresh Chian nectar from the bowls. My hand never came home filled with coins. (hazels and streams bear witness to the Nymphs). while Corydon and Thyrsis, both in the flower of youth. It is likely that Vergil deliberately designed and arranged his book of Eclogues, in which case it is the first extant collection of Latin poems in the same meter put together by the poet. on the grass, to the weary, like slaking one’s thirst. But, Tityrus, tell me then, who is this god of yours? Pollio loves my Muse, though she’s rural: Pollio himself makes new songs, too: fatten a bull. and let him harness foxes, and milk he-goats, too. Perseus provides credit for all accepted changes, storing new additions in a versioning system. Vergil. of a green beech, and marked with elegiac measure: then you can order Amyntas to compete with me. now the woods are green, now the year’s loveliest. So that if a raven hadn’t warned me from a hollow oak. May sharp ice not cut your tender feet! begin: Tityrus will watch the grazing kids. and rest in the shade, if you can stay for a while. Is it Meliboeus’? Away with you my once happy flock of goats. Ah, alas, what wish, wretch, has been mine? As vines bring glory to the trees, grapes to the vines. the ram in the meadow will change his fleece of himself. May the frosts. and this too: ‘ Whose is the flock? Meliboeus, foolishly, I thought the City they call Rome, was like ours, to which we shepherds are often accustomed. Go home my cherished oxen. and my goats are hateful, and my untrimmed beard. An impious soldier will own these well-tilled fields, a barbarian these crops. in the woods, and carve my passion on tender trees. but Stimichon praised your songs to me long ago. So Damoetas said: Amyntas, the fool, was envious. Ah, unhappy girl, what madness seized you! gathered from Pontus (many grow there in Pontus), I’ve often seen Moeris, with these, change to a wolf and hide. Poems of the Appendix Vergiliana are traditionally, but in most cases probably wrongly, attributed to Virgil. Tell me in what land flowers grow inscribed. Even now I seem to pass over cliffs and through echoing. my brow with cyclamen, lest his evil tongue harms the poet to be. some to find Scythia, and Crete’s swift Oaxes. or enter the cave instead. rise up throughout the world: now your Apollo reigns. Here are cold springs, Lycoris, here are soft meadows. Who’d deny songs, for Gallus? What can masters do, when slaves are so audacious? and ordered his laurels to learn by heart. the pliant willow for breeding cattle, and only Amyntas for me. Heaven’s extent appears no more than three yards wide. my flute earning a goat, with its melodies? The Eclogues (Latin: Eclogae or Bucolica) are a collection of ten pastoral poems by the Roman poet Virgil. Take the embers out, Amaryllis, and throw them behind your head, into the running stream, and don’t look back. though his mother helps the one, his father the other. and longer shadows fall from the high hills. trade its goods: every land will produce everything. calling the herds home, on Attic Aracynthus. among the willows, under the creeping vine: Phyllis plucking garlands for me, Amyntas singing. options are on the right side and top of the page. The Roman poet Virgil had, by the thirteen and fourteenth centuries AD, acquired a reputation as the anima naturaliter Christiana. The Eclogues has been divided into the following sections: Eclogue I [15k] Eclogue II [14k] Eclogue III [20k] Eclogue IV [14k] Eclogue V [16k] Eclogue VI [16k] Eclogue VII [15k] Eclogue VIII [18k] Eclogue IX [14k] Eclogue X [14k] with shrill cicadas, under the burning sun. alternate verses the Muses wished they’d composed. J. Will I be free to carry your songs to all the world, From you was my beginning, in you I’ll end. These Corydon spoke, and Thyrsis after, in turn. here Mincius borders his green shores with tender reeds, and the swarm buzzes from the sacred oak.’. adorned with spreading clusters of pale ivy. with milk, and the cattle will have no fear of fierce lions: Your cradle itself will pour out delightful flowers: And the snakes will die, and deceitful poisonous herbs. He marked out the whole heavens for mankind with his staff. Well didn’t he acknowledge me as winner in the singing. Wasn’t it better to endure Amaryllis’s sullen anger. Ah, can such evil happen to anyone? Then he tells of the stones Pyrrha threw, of Saturn’s reign. While the boar loves the mountain ridge, the fish the stream. You’re the elder, Menalcas: it’s right for me to obey you. ‘The Nymphs wept for Daphnis, taken by cruel death. let tamarisks drip thick amber from their bark. Your current position in the text is marked in blue. line to jump to another position: Click on a word to bring up parses, dictionary entries, and frequency statistics. Enter a Perseus citation to go to another section or work. In the middle two figures, Conon, and – who was the other? And you will read both of heroic glories, and your father’s deeds. O be kind and auspicious to your own! Now let the wolf itself run from the sheep, let tough oaks. (for the old man had often cheated them both of a promised song). Accept the songs, begun at your command, and let the ivy twine. Poets following Virgil often refer intertextually to his … reads these as well, my tamarisk sings of you Varus, and all the grove: no written page is more pleasing. The Muses have made me a poet too, and I too have songs: the shepherds call me also. Muses of Sicily, let me sing a little more grandly. You’ll not escape now: I’ll come whenever you call. Another Argo will arise to carry chosen heroes, a second. Ah! what did Amyntas not do to learn this art? in the one flame, so let Daphnis with love for me. as a boy, I remember spending long days singing: now all my songs are forgotten: even my voice itself. had rescued all your land, from where the hills end, where they descend, in a gentle slope, to the water. Now once more neither Hamadryads, nor songs please me: once more you yourselves vanish from me, you woodlands. Calliope Orpheus, and lovely Apollo Linus. These truly - and love’s not the cause – are skin and bone. ‘Nymphs of Dicte, close up the woodland glades, if by any chance the bull’s wandering tracks. Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. Conditions and Exceptions apply. Vergil, Eclogue 1 [Greenough] Vergil, Eclogue 1 [Greenough] 21 November, 2017 earlylatin that will command men to take to the sea in ships. Yet you might have rested here with me tonight. Click anywhere in the not even if we drive the Ethiopian sheep, to and fro. But this city indeed has lifted her head as high among others. in her children’s blood: a cruel mother too. First I’ll give you this frail hemlock pipe. and the clinging vines weave shadowy arbours: Come: let the wild waves strike the shores.’. The wolf’s a threat to the fold, the rain to the ripe crops. will wither: Assyrian spice plants will spring up everywhere. though each feared to have the yoke around her neck. so you alone to your people. I’ll add waxy plums: they too shall be honoured: and I’ll pluck you, O laurels, and you, neighbouring myrtle. and pools with muddy reeds cover all your pastures. Amaryllis, weave three knots in three colours: Just weave them, Amaryllis, and say: ‘I weave chains of Love.’. Commentary references to this page Tell me in what land (and you’ll be mighty Apollo to me). The un-felled mountainsides themselves send their voice, to the stars in joy: the rocks and woods themselves, now ring with song: ‘A god, Menalcas, he is a god!’. Round the sheep up, boys: if the heat inhibits the milk. Only favour the child who’s born, pure Lucina, under whom, the first race of iron shall end, and a golden race. Online study of Vergil's Eclogues. This work may be freely reproduced, stored and transmitted, electronically or otherwise, for any non-commercial purpose. The ancients referred to individual pieces in Virgil's Bucolica as eclogae, and the term was used by later Latin poets to refer to their own pastoral poetry, often in imitation of Virgil. But we must go, some to the parched Africans. ‘Love doesn’t care for this: Love’s not sated with tears, nor the grass with streams, the bees with clover, or the goats with leaves.’, But Gallus said sadly: ‘Still you Arcadians will sing. Yes, and those he’s not yet perfected he sang to Varus: ‘Varus, singing swans will bear your name to the stars, Mantua, alas, too near to wretched Cremona.’, If you have anything to sing, begin: as you would have. and the green strawberry-tree that covers you with thin shade. Daphnis, the wild woods and the mountains say. They’ll grow, and you my passions will also grow. So I considered pups like dogs, kids like their mothers. AENEID. Love conquers all: and let us give way to Love.’, Divine Muses, it will be enough for your poet to have sung. If you don’t realise it, that goat was mine: Damon himself. Was the mother crueller, or the Boy more cruel? I had no Phyllis or Alcippe. The Eclogues By Virgil Written 37 B.C.E. The faithless lover once left me these traces of himself. sinks down by a rill of water, in the green reeds. Nysa is given to Mopsus: what should we lovers not hope for? “Oh, cruel Alexis, do you care nothing for my songs? now I could reach the frail branches from the ground. Pollio, let him who loves you, come, where he also delights in you: let honey flow for him, and the bitter briar bear spice. when the hairs of my beard fell whiter when they were cut. You don’t just equal your master in pipe but in song. or the god might learn how to soften human sorrows. What could I do? with royal names, and have Phyllis for your own. O Meliboeus, a god has created this leisure for us. Ah, will I gaze on my country’s shores, after long years. when the dew in the tender grass is sweetest to the flock. and raise a tomb, and on it set this verse: “I was Daphnis in the woods, known from here to the stars, lovely the flock I guarded, lovelier was I.”’. Do I believe? No more, boy, and press on with the work in hand: then we’ll sing our songs the better when he comes. I’m scorned by you, Alexis: you don’t ask who I am. (1). And Pasiphae, happier if cattle had never been known. I remember the tune, if I can recall the words. Category The only other reference to cheese-making in Virgil occurs in Georg. And Phoebus loves me: I always have gifts for him. At this time Virgil was in his thirties. Aegle arrived, and added an ally to the fearful pair, Aegle, loveliest of the Naiads, and as he opens his eyes. While he makes love. I’d have often recalled that this evil was prophesied to me. now to a sweet blushing purple, now to a saffron yellow: scarlet will clothe the browsing lambs of its own accord. Whom do you flee? Lying in some green hollow, I’ll no longer see you. your closest attention ( it’s no small thing). Let him who doesn’t hate Bavius, love your songs, Maevius. Project Gutenberg has Latin texts and English translations available for download. Now graft your pears, Meliboeus, plant your rows of vines. Preface Introduction 1 Life and works of Virgil 2 The Eclogues 3 The Georgics 4 Virgil's hexameter 5 The manuscripts of Virgil's poems and the ancient commentators 6 Differences in text between this edition and those of Hirtzel and Mynors 7 Bibliography TEXT The Eclogues The Georgics COMMENTARY The Eclogues The Georgics Index to the note a singer: but I don’t put any trust in them. See, while I waited to carry it out, the ash of its own accord. When I sang of kings and battles the Cynthian grasped, my ear and warned me: ‘Tityrus, a shepherd, should graze fat sheep, but sing a slender song.’, Now (since there are more than enough who desire to sing, your praises, Varus, and write about grim war). Damoetas begin: then Menalcas, you follow: sing alternately: the Muses love alternation. Cruel Daphnis burns me: I burn this laurel for Daphnis. as cypress trees are accustomed to do among the weeping willows. the cold snake in the field is burst apart by singing. And that same Alcimedon made two cups for me. elsewhere, or find gods so ready to help me. or Cinna, but cackle like a goose among melodious swans. The poplar’s dearest to Hercules, the vine to Bacchus. he’d draw the unyielding manna ash-trees from the hills. as they say the Chaonian doves are when the eagle’s near. Breezes, carry some part of them to the ears of the gods. pale violets and the heads of poppy flowers. since, so placed, you mingle your sweet perfumes. to the measure, then the unbending oaks nodded their crowns: no such delight have the cliffs of Parnassus in their Phoebus. The plain will slowly turn golden with tender wheat. You begin first, Mopsus, if you’ve any praise for your flame. Goodbye to the woods: I’ll leap from an airy mountaintop into the waves: So Damon sang. we send him these kids (may no good come of it). of beech wood, work carved by divine Alcimedon: to which a pliant vine’s been added with the lathe’s art. For, Pollio, in your consulship, this noble age begins. O lovely boy, come here: see the Nymphs bring for you. when you were celebrating Amarayllis, our delight? neither myrtle nor laurel shall outdo the hazel. as if this might be a cure for my madness. Groups. So the two began to compete, in alternate verses. Mopsus, since we’ve met and we’re both skilled.