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Interea mixtis lustrabo Mænala Nymphis;
Aut acres venabor apros; non me ulla vetabunt
Frigora Parthenios canibus circumdare saltus.
Jam mihi per rupes videor, lucosque sonantes,
Ire; libet Partho torquere Cydonia cornu


Spicula; tamquam hæc sint nostri medicina furoris, 60 Aut deus ille malis hominum mitescere discat!

Jam neque Hamadryades rursùm, nec carmina nobis Ipsa placent; ipsæ, rursùm concedite, sylvæ. Non illum nostri possunt mutare labores; Nec, si frigoribus mediis Hebrumque bibamus, Sithoniasque nives hiemis subeamus aquosæ; Nec si, quum moriens altâ liber aret in ulmo, Æthiopum versemus oves sub sidere Cancri. Omnia vincit Amor; et nos cedamus Amori."


Hæc sat erit, Divæ, vestrum cecinisse poëtam,
Dum sedet, et gracili fiscellam texit hibisco,
Pierides. Vos hæc facietis maxima Gallo;
Gallo, cujus amor tantùm mihi crescit in horas,
Quantùm vere novo viridis se subjicit alnus.

Surgamus: solet esse gravis cantantibus umbra,
Juniperi gravis umbra; nocent et frugibus umbræ.
Ite domum saturæ, venit Hesperus, ite, capellæ.



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"Or Mænalus, with mingling nymphs, I'll tread;
"Or chase the tusky savage, undismay'd:
"Nor storms shall stay me, as with faithful hound
"Arcadia's forest-depths I girdle round.

"Now over rocks, through groves, I seem to go;
"Now twang my shafts from Parthia's horned bow:
"As if such toils the tyrant could remove,

"Or any human art could medicine love!


"Ah! nor by wood-nymphs I, nor woodland strain, "Solaced or sooth'd! Farewell, ye woods, again. Vainly to tame th' obdurate God we try:


"Not should our lip drain wintry Hebrus dry,


"Not though our foot 'mid storms trod Thracia's snows,
"Not though we fed our flocks where Cancer glows
"On Indian sands, and peels the towering grove- 80
"Love conquers all; and we must yield to love."

Enough, ye Muses, has your bard essay'd,
Weaving his rushy basket in the shade.
These numbers you to Gallus will endear;
Gallus for whom, as year succeeds to year,
My love still grows, as in the vernal prime
The alder's shoots with strong luxuriance climb.
Rise we; the juniper's strong shade annoys
The minstrel choir, the ripening grain destroys:
Goats, from your pastures sated homeward hie

See, where bright Hesper fires the evening sky.



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