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Virgil

moeris

Omnia fert aetas, animum quoque; saepe ego longos cantando puerum memini me condere soles: nunc oblita mihi tot carmina: vox quoque Moerin iam fugit ipsa; lupi Moerin videre priores. 55sed tamen ista satis referet tibi saepe Menalcas.

lycidas

Causando nostros in longum ducis amores. et nunc omne tibi stratum silet aequor, et omnes, aspice, ventosi ceciderunt murmuris aurae. hinc adeo media est nobis via; namque sepulcrum 60incipit apparere Bianoris. hic, ubi densas agricolae stringunt frondes, hic, Moeri, canamus; hic haedos depone, tamen veniemus in urbem. aut si, nox pluviam ne colligat ante, veremur, cantantes licet usque (minus via laedit) eamus; 65cantantes ut eamus, ego hoc te fasce levabo.

moeris

Desine plura, puer, et quod nunc instat agamus; carmina tum melius, cum venerit ipse, canemus.

X

mp Extremum hunc, Arethusa, mihi concede laborem: pauca meo Gallo, sed quae legat ipsa Lycoris, carmina sunt dicenda: neget quis carmina Gallo? sic tibi, cum fluctus subterlabere Sicanos, 5Doris amara suam non intermisceat undam, incipe; sollicitos Galli dicamus amores, dum tenera attondent simae virgulta capellae.

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Eclogues

moeris

Time robs us of all, even of memory; oft as a boy I recall that with song I would lay the long summer days to rest. Now I have forgotten all my songs. Even voice itself now fails Moeris; the wolves have seen Moeris first. Still Menalcas will repeat you your songs, often as you will.

lycidas

Your pleas merely increase my longing. Now the whole sea plain lies hushed to hear you, and lo! every breath of the murmuring breeze is dead. Just from here lies half our journey, for Bianor’s tomb is coming into view. Here, where the farmers are lopping the thick leaves—here, Moeris, let us sing. Here put down the kids—we shall reach the town all the same. Or if we fear that night may first bring on rain, we may yet go singing on our way—it makes the road less irksome. So that we may go singing on our way, I will relieve you of this burden.

moeris

Say no more, lad; let us to the task in hand. Our songs we shall sing the better, when the master himself has come.

X

My last task this—vouchsafe me it, Arethusa 22 ! A few verses I must sing for my Gallus, yet such as Lycoris herself may read! Who would refuse verses to Gallus? If, when you glide beneath Sicilian waves, you would not have briny Doris blend her stream with yours, begin! Let us tell of Gallus’ anxious loves, while the blunt-nosed goats crop the

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DOI: 10.4159/DLCL.virgil-eclogues.1916