Georgics

Virgil

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

  1. ‘Orpheus! what ruin hath thy frenzy wrought
  2. On me, alas! and thee? Lo! once again
  3. The unpitying fates recall me, and dark sleep
  4. Closes my swimming eyes. And now farewell:
  5. Girt with enormous night I am borne away,
  6. Outstretching toward thee, thine, alas! no more,
  7. These helpless hands.’ She spake, and suddenly,
  8. Like smoke dissolving into empty air,
  9. Passed and was sundered from his sight; nor him
  10. Clutching vain shadows, yearning sore to speak,
  11. Thenceforth beheld she, nor no second time
  12. Hell's boatman brooks he pass the watery bar.
  13. What should he do? fly whither, twice bereaved?
  14. Move with what tears the Manes, with what voice
  15. The Powers of darkness? She indeed even now
  16. Death-cold was floating on the Stygian barge!
  17. For seven whole months unceasingly, men say,
  18. Beneath a skyey crag, by thy lone wave,
  19. Strymon, he wept, and in the caverns chill
  20. Unrolled his story, melting tigers' hearts,
  21. And leading with his lay the oaks along.
  22. As in the poplar-shade a nightingale
  23. Mourns her lost young, which some relentless swain,
  24. Spying, from the nest has torn unfledged, but she
  25. Wails the long night, and perched upon a spray
  26. With sad insistence pipes her dolorous strain,
  27. Till all the region with her wrongs o'erflows.
  28. No love, no new desire, constrained his soul:
  29. By snow-bound Tanais and the icy north,
  30. Far steppes to frost Rhipaean forever wed,
  31. Alone he wandered, lost Eurydice
  32. Lamenting, and the gifts of Dis ungiven.
  33. Scorned by which tribute the Ciconian dames,
  34. Amid their awful Bacchanalian rites
  35. And midnight revellings, tore him limb from limb,
  36. And strewed his fragments over the wide fields.
  37. Then too, even then, what time the Hebrus stream,
  38. Oeagrian Hebrus, down mid-current rolled,
  39. Rent from the marble neck, his drifting head,
  40. The death-chilled tongue found yet a voice to cry
  41. ‘Eurydice! ah! poor Eurydice!’
  42. With parting breath he called her, and the banks
  43. From the broad stream caught up ‘Eurydice!’”