mphs will haunt Mount Maenalus,
or hunt the keen wild boar. No frost so cold
but I will hem with hounds thy forest-glades,
parthenius. Even now, methinks, I range
o'er rocks, through echoing groves, and joy to launch
Cydonian arrows from a Parthian bow.—
as if my madness could find healing thus,
or that god soften at a mortal's grief!
Now neither Hamadryads, no, nor songs
delight me more: ye woods, away with you!
No pangs of ours can change him; not though we
in the mid-frost should drink of Hebrus' stream,
and in wet winters face Sithonian snows,
or, when the bark of the tall elm-tree bole
of drought is dying, should, under Cancer's Sign,
in Aethiopian deserts drive our flocks.
Love conquers all things; yield we too to love!”
These songs, Pierian Maids, shall it suffice
your poet to have sung, the while he sat,
and of slim mallow wove a basket fine:
to Gallus ye will magnify their worth,
Gallus, for whom my love grows hour by hour,
as the green alder shoots in early Spring.