Eclogues

Virgil

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

  1. Have you no pity? you'll drive me to my death.
  2. Now even the cattle court the cooling shade
  3. and the green lizard hides him in the thorn:
  4. now for tired mowers, with the fierce heat spent,
  5. pounds Thestilis her mess of savoury herbs,
  6. wild thyme and garlic. I, with none beside,
  7. save hoarse cicalas shrilling through the brake,
  8. still track your footprints 'neath the broiling sun.
  9. Better have borne the petulant proud disdain
  10. of Amaryllis, or Menalcas wooed,
  11. albeit he was so dark, and you so fair!
  12. Trust not too much to colour, beauteous boy;
  13. white privets fall, dark hyacinths are culled.
  14. You scorn me, Alexis, who or what I am
  15. care not to ask—how rich in flocks, or how
  16. in snow-white milk abounding: yet for me
  17. roam on Sicilian hills a thousand lambs;