Virgil, Eclogue II, englished:

For Alexis, beautiful, pastor Corydon was on fire,
-- The darling of their master -- and nor did he get what he'd hoped.
Only in the densest branches, all of shady tips,
He usually came. There these foundless things, alone
Among the hills and forests spewed he forth with studied zeal:
"O crudely Alexis, care you nothing for my songs?
Pity us not at all? For death do you finally think me?
Even now the shadows, and coolness capture flocks,
Now thorny bushes hide even their emerald lizards,
And Thestylis in the rabid (for her reapers) heat
Crushes thyme on dinner with other fragrant herbs.
But with me and raucous (while I lust your steps
Beneath the ardent sun) cicadas resonate the trees.
Amaryllida was not enough for me to bear, bitter rage
And proudly prude? And neither Menalcan,
However black he was, and you as white?
O beautiful boy, exceedingly shouldst never trust to color
White privet blossoms fall, black hyacinths are gathered.
Hateful to you am I, nor do you ask who I am, Alexis,
How rich in flocks, abundant how in snowy milk.
Thousands of my lambs err in Siculian hills;
Milk does not lack for me, neither in the spring or fall, and fresh.
I sing those things as he, habitually, (if ever didst call fields)
Amphion Dircaeus in Actian Aracynthus.
I'm not even so ugly: recently I saw myself on the beach,
When placid by the winds stood seas. Before Daphnin I should not,
In your opinion, quake, if reflections never lie.
Oh! If only it were pleasing for you, with me in found fields,
To live in humble houses, and hunt deer,
And drive their mothers' young with greened mallow!
Along with me in the forests you'll imitate Pan on the pipes
(For Pan first joined together with wax very many reeds
And founded syrinx, Pan who cares for flocks, and of the flocks, their masters),
Nor repent yourself for wearing off by flute your lips:
What would Amyntas fail to do to learn the same?
I have a pan compact of seven different pipes,
Which, as a gift, Damoetas gave me once,
And dying said: "These are your master now";
Damoetas said, while jealous Amyntas watched.
Besides, I have two, unknown in the tucked-away valley,
Fawns, sparse even now with whitened spots,
Who twice a day will dry the teats of sheep; and these I keep for you.
Long since Thestylis begged to lead those off from me,
And will do yet, since you think shit our gifts.
Come hence, beautiful boy, oh! For you lilies in full,
Behold the nymphs bring baskets; for you the shining Nais,
Plucking violets pale and poppies' tips,
Narcissus and flower joins of sweetly odored anise;
Then with wild cinnamon and mixing other suavely herbs
With gentle, little yellow she weaves hyacinth and violet.
I myself will gather white of tender the downy apple
And chestnuts, which my Amaryllis once loved;
I will certainly add waxy plums (for there is also honor in this fruit)
And you, oh laurels, pluck, and you, approximate myrtle,
So placed since you mix sweetly odors.
You are a rustic, Corydon; nor does Alexis care for your gifts,
Nor, if for them most certain, would Iollas concede.
Oh, oh, what did I want for miserable me? With flowers the Austrum
-- Foolish! -- to fight, to cast off wild boars with flowing fountains?
Where do you flee, ah! demented? They live also, gods, in the forests,
And Dardan Paris. Pallas who founded cities
Herself is tenant; to us the trees are more placid than all.
The savage lioness hunts the wolf, the wolf himself the sheep,
And flowering willows sate the lascivious goat,
And Corydon you, o Alexus: whatever floats your boat.
Look, the bulls take up again on yoke the hanging plough,
And the sun doubles rising shadows as it falls;
Nontheless, love burns me: for what bounds hold back love?
Ah, Corydon, Corydon, what dementia has seized you!
Half-shorn your leafy vines grow on the elm:
Might you not something more worthy, of which use needs,
With pliant branch and supple thrush prepare to weave?
You will find -- if this one forebears -- another Alexis."