Eclogue

1  III|    beechen cups~By the divine art of Alcimedon~Wrought and
2    V|    the one glory of thine own art thou.~When the Fates took
3    V|     alone,~But with thy voice art thou, thrice happy boy,~
4  VII|       for thee to claim;~Thou art the guardian of a poor man’
5 VIII| Timavus’ rocky banks~Thou now art passing, or dost skirt the
6    X|         Apollo came;~“Gallus, art mad?” he cried, “thy bosom’