Eclogue

 1    I|           woods resound.~Tityrus.~O Meliboeus, ’twas a god vouchsafed~
 2    I|       she-goats on,~And this one, O my Tityrus, scarce can lead:~
 3    I|          Though, with bare stones o’erspread, the pastures all~
 4  III|   Committed to my care.~Menalcas.~O every way~Unhappy sheep,
 5  III|          words to me, and uttered O how oft,~Hath Galatea spoke!
 6  III| country-bred,~Is loved by Pollio: O Pierian Maids,~Pray you,
 7  III|          him also love~Thy songs, O Maevius, ay, and therewithal~
 8   IV|     consulate,~This glorious age, O Pollio, shall begin,~And
 9   IV|          his father’s worth~Reign o’er a world at peace. For
10   IV|         world at peace. For thee, O boy,~First shall the earth,
11   IV|          thy mother with a smile,~O baby-boy! ten months of
12   IV|      weariness~For thee she bore: O baby-boy, begin!~For him,
13    V|      begin,~While Tityrus watches o’er the grazing kids.~Mopsus.~
14    V|          uprear their heads.~Now, O ye shepherds, strew the
15    V|           ground with leaves,~And o’er the fountains draw a
16   VI|        eyes should read,~Of thee, O Varus, shall our tamarisks~
17   VI|  blood-red mulberries smeared him o’er,~Both brow and temples.
18   VI|     cattle-kind had never been! -~O ill-starred maid, what frenzy
19   VI|        feared the galling plough.~O ill-starred maid! thou roamest
20   VI|          wings~Hovered in anguish o’er her ancient home?~All
21  VII|         Hither haste,” he cried,~“O Meliboeus! goat and kids
22  VII|      grudged the hills~His vine’s o’er-shadowing: should my
23 VIII|           with me Maenalian lays.~O worthy of thy mate, while
24 VIII|           traitor left me, which, O earth, to thee~Here on this
25 VIII|  Amaryllis, fetch them forth,~And o’er your head into the running
26 VIII|          own fancies fooled?~Give o’er, my songs,~Daphnis is
27 VIII|        coming from the town, give o’er.”~
28   IX|         what errand bent?~Moeris.~O Lycidas,~We have lived to
29   IX|          bestrewn the ground,~And o’er the fountains drawn a
30    X|         alone have skill to sing.~O then how softly would my
31    X|       Even now, methinks, I range~O’er rocks, through echoing