Eclogue

1  VII|     strayed, while from the frost I fend~My tender myrtles,
2    X|   frozen Rhine.~Ah! may the frost not hurt thee, may the sharp~
3    X| hunt the keen wild boar. No frost so cold~But I will hem with
Best viewed with any browser at 800x600 or 768x1024 on Tablet PC
IntraText® (VA1) - Some rights reserved by EuloTech SRL - 1996-2009. Content in this page is licensed under a Creative Commons License