Epistulae

its spreading leaves. But I no more find him with whom I haunted these beloved shades: they now can please no more; for to him they owed all their charms. I view the pressed grass on which we have reposed our wearied limbs, where the bending turf retains the print of our double weight. i kiss the earth pressed by your lovely limbs, and bedew with tears the grateful herbs. For thee the trees, dropping their leaves, seem to mourn, and the tuneful birds deny their songs. The Phocian bind alone, that disconsolate mother, who took so cruel a revenge on her Thracian lord, mourns the hard fate of Itys. The nightingale mourns the fate of Itys; Sappho laments that she is deserted by Phaon. All else is silent, and

involved in the shades of night. A spring there is, whose waters run clear and transparent as crystal: here, as many think, a deity resides. Above, a flowery lotos spreads its shading branches, and seems itself a grove: the banks around are edged with eternal green. Here, while, after an effusion of tears, I rested my wearied limbs, a Naiad suddenly stood before my eyes. She stood, and said, O you who burn with an ill-requited flame, fly to the Acarnanian shore. Apollo from an impending rock surveys the extended ocean below, which is called, by the inhabitants, the sea of Actium and Leucate: hence Deucalion, inflamed with the hopeless love of Pyrrha, plunged himself unhurt into the main. Forthwith love changing, possessed the obstinate heart of Pyrrha; and Deucalion was freed from his flame. Such is the law of the place. Haste then, throw yourself from high Leucadia, nor dread the threatening steep.