Virgil, Eclogue 1

M. Tityrus, reclining 'neath the shade of a spreading beech
With tenuous oat you meditate the sylvan Muse;
We flee the edges of our country and leave the dulcet fields;
We are fleeing our homeland -- you, Tityrus, light in the shadows
Instruct the woods to resonate your lovely Amaryllis.
T. O Melibeoeus, a god granted us this peace
For ever will he be a god to me, and ever will a lamb,
Tender from our flocks, his altar stain.
He, as you see, allows my cows to wander, and myself
To play those things I wish on rugged pipe.
M. I do not even envy, more admire; everywhere, wherever I go
The entire country quakes. What's more, I prod my flock
Forward for ills; and her, Tityrus, I lead with aches:
For here among the dense hazels, just now twins,
The hope of a flock, ah! -- she left them on the naked rock.
Often this evil to us -- if not for a wandering mind --
I recall had predicted an oak, heavenly struck.
But nevertheless this god, who he is, give, Tityrus, to us.
T. That city which they call Rome, Meliboeus, I once believed
-- foolish I! -- alike to this our own, to which we are often accustomed,
Pastors all, to dispatch tender kids from our flock.
So dogs are like to cats, so mothers their young
Thought I -- to confound great things with small, this was my fault;
Truly Rome raises her head as much above cities
As cypresses will turn their nose up at the fragile guelder-rose.
M. And what was, for you, the so great cause of seeing Rome?
T. Liberty, who late though she was, respected a laggard;
After the beard fell from the razor more whitely,
She paid respect all the same and, long overdue, she came
After Amaryllis had us, and Galatea left us.
For this I will admit: as long as Galatea held me
Neither hope of liberty was nor care for savings.
How ever many victims you wish came out from my holdings,
However much rich cheese was pressed for our ungrateful town,
Not ever weighed down with copper would my palm come home.
M. Amaryllis, I had wondered why, grieving, you would call the gods,
For whom you left his apples to hang on the tree;
Tityrus had left. The pines themselves, Tityrus,
Even the fountains, yes verily these trees would call your name.
T. What could I do? Neither could I loose my yoke
Otherwise nor elsewhere come to know such present gods.
There I saw him in the resplendence of his youth, Meliboeus,
To whom our altars fume each year for twice six days.
There he gave this answer first to my request:
"Pasture your oxen as before, my sons, and raise your bulls."
M. Fortunate old man, so the fields will remain yours
And however much you need, whatever you want of bedrock
And all this chalky pasture overgrown with slimy thrush;
Nor will unaccustomed fodder tempt those laden with birth,
Neither will the ills of neighboring flocks infect them.
Happy elder, here among well known streams
And sacred fountains you will capture the coolness of shade;
Here for you, as always, from the neighboring limits
Hedges that feed with salictian flower the Hyblean bees
Will often coax you to sleep with soft whispers;
There below the high cliff the hedge-trimmer cries to the heavens,
Nor meanwhile will the shrill wood-pigeons, your delight,
Nor the turtle-dove cease to moan on airy elms.
T Therefore first will winged deer graze in the clouds
And channels abandon fresh fish on the beach,
First overwandering both of their boundaries either the exiled
Parthian will drink from the Arar or the German from Tiger,
Before the god's face is forgotten from our heart.
M. As for us, others, from hence, will reach thirsty Africa,
And some will call Scythia and the rapid clay's Oaxen home,
or dwell in Britannia, deeply divided from all the globe.
How will I ever again, long from now, seeing the pauperish edge
Of my homeland, and the sod gathered roof of my hut
After so many years admire my kingdom, my crop?
A good for nothing soldier will keep these sweat-grown fields,
A hawk will tend this turf. Behold how civil war incites
Civillians' cares: for this we sowed the fields!
Plant, Meliboeus, your pears, now place your vines in line.
Come, oh mine, once happy flock of sheep, let's go.
Nor will I, after this, couched away in a green-grown cave
Watch you hang far away on the thorny rocks; no,
I will sing no songs; nor where I lead, my flock
Will you pluck the flowering clover or feed on weeping willows.
T. Nonetheless here, with me, you could stay this night
Above the ripening green: for us there are succulent pears,
Chestnuts soft, an extravagance of pressured cheese;
But look, far off the highest city tops already fume
And greater shadows glide down from the hills.