Arms and the man I sing, who, forced by fateAnd haughty Juno’s unrelenting hate,Expelled and exiled, left the Trojan shore.Long labors, both by sea and land, he bore;And in the doubtful war, before he wonThe Latin realm and built the destined town,His banished gods restored to rights divine,And settled sure succession in his line;From whence…
And the clods begin to crumble in the breeze,The time has come for my groaning ox to dragMy heavy plow across the fields, so thatThe plow blade shines as the furrow rubs against it.Not till the earth has been twice plowed, so twiceExposed to sun and twice to coolness willIt yield what the farmer prays…
Say whither, Moeris?- Make you for the town,Or on what errand bent?Moeris. O Lycidas,We have lived to see, what never yet we feared,An interloper own our little farm,And say, ‘Be off, you former husbandmen!These fields are mine.’ Now, cowed and out of heart,Since Fortune turns the whole world upside down,We are taking him- ill luck…
Those shepherd-singers at whose rival strainsThe heifer wondering forgot to graze,The lynx stood awe-struck, and the flowing streams,Unwonted loiterers, stayed their course to hear-How Damon and Alphesiboeus sangTheir pastoral ditties, will I tell the tale.Thou, whether broad Timavus’ rocky banksThou now art passing, or dost skirt the shoreOf the Illyrian main,- will ever dawnThat day…
Had sat him down; Thyrsis and CorydonHad gathered in the flock, Thyrsis the sheep,And Corydon the she-goats swollen with milk-Both in the flower of age, Arcadians both,Ready to sing, and in like strain reply.Hither had strayed, while from the frost I fendMy tender myrtles, the he-goat himself,Lord of the flock; when Daphnis I espy!Soon as…
For fair Alexis, his own master’s joy:No room for hope had he, yet, none the less,The thick-leaved shadowy-soaring beech-tree groveStill would he haunt, and there alone, as thus,To woods and hills pour forth his artless strains.‘Cruel Alexis, heed you naught my songs?Have you no pity? you’ll drive me to my death.Now even the cattle court…
Why, Mopsus, being both together met,You skilled to breathe upon the slender reeds,I to sing ditties, do we not sit downHere where the elm-trees and the hazels blend?Mopsus.You are the elder, ’tis for me to bideYour choice, Menalcas, whether now we seekYon shade that quivers to the changeful breeze,Or the cave’s shelter. Look you how…
To Syracusan strains, nor blushed withinThe woods to house her. When I sought to tellOf battles and of kings, the Cynthian godPlucked at mine ear and warned me: ‘Tityrus,Beseems a shepherd-wight to feed fat sheep,But sing a slender song.’ Now, Varus, I-For lack there will not who would laud thy deeds,And treat of dolorous wars-…
A somewhat loftier task! Not all men loveCoppice or lowly tamarisk: sing we woods,Woods worthy of a Consul let them be.Now the last age by Cumae’s Sibyl sungHas come and gone, and the majestic rollOf circling centuries begins anew:Justice returns, returns old Saturn’s reign,With a new breed of men sent down from heaven.Only do thou,…
You, Tityrus, ‘neath a broad beech-canopyReclining, on the slender oat rehearseYour silvan ditties: I from my sweet fields,And home’s familiar bounds, even now depart.Exiled from home am I; while, Tityrus, youSit careless in the shade, and, at your call,‘Fair Amaryllis’ bid the woods resound.Tityrus.O Meliboeus, ’twas a god vouchsafedThis ease to us, for him a…
