(84 Bücheler) I
Vere rosa, autumno pomis, aestate frequentor spicis: una mihi est horrida pestis hiems; nam frigus metuo et vereor, ne ligneus ignem hic deus ignavis praebeat agricolis.
(85 Bücheler) II
Ego haec, ego arte fabricata rustica, ego arida, o viator, ecce populus, agellulum hunc, sinistra et ante quem vides, erique villulam hortulumque pauperis 5tuor, malaque furis arceo manu.
Mihi corolla picta vere ponitur, mihi rubens arista sole fervido, mihi virente dulcis uva pampino, mihi gelante oliva cocta frigore. 10meis capella delicata pascuis in urbem adulta lacte portat ubera,
- Imss: Ω = BZ; meter = elegiac mss: Ω = BZ; meter = pure iambics
- 4ignavis Voss: ignaris Ω
- 9gelante Richmond: glauca Ω
In spring I 1 am covered with roses, in autumn with fruits, in summer with ears of corn: winter alone is to me a horrid time. For I dread the cold, and fear that your god of wood may be used for fuel by rude yokels.
I here, O wayfarer, I, made from dry poplar wood with rustic skill, ’tis I that guard this little field you see in front and to the left, with the poor owner’s cottage and small garden, I that shield them from the thief’s wicked hand.
On me in spring is placed a garland gay; on me in the scorching sun the ruddy corn; on me the luscious grapes with tendrils green; on me the olive hardened by the freezing cold. From my pastures the dainty she-goat bears to town her udders swollen with milk; from my folds comes