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More pleasing slumbers will my cave bestow;
There spiry cypress and green laurels grow;
There round my trees the sable ivy twines,
And grapes, as sweet as honey, load my vines :
From grove-crown'd Ætna, robed in purest snow,
Cool springs roll nectar to the swains below.
Say, who would quit such peaceful scenes as these,
For blustering billows and tempestuous seas?
Though my rough form's no object of desire,
My oaks supply me with abundant fire;
My hearth unceasing blazes-though I swear
By this one eye, to me for ever dear,

Well might that fire to warm my breast suffice,
That kindled at the lightning of your eyes.
Had I, like fish, with fins and gills been made,
Then might I in your element have play'd,
With ease have dived beneath your azure tide,
And kiss'd your hand though you your lips denied ;
Brought lillies fair, or poppies red that grow
In summer's solstice, or in winter's snow.
These flowers I could not both together bear,
That bloom'd in different seasons of the


Well, I'm resolved, fair nymph, I'll learn to dive,
If e'er a sailor at this port arrive;

Then shall I surely by experience know

What pleasures charm you in the depths below.

Emerge, O Galatea! from the sea,

And here forget your native home like me.

O would you feed flock and milk my ewes,


And ere you press my cheese, the runnet sharp infuse.— My mother is my only foe, I fear;

She never whispers soft things in your ear,

Altho' she knows my grief, and every day

Sees how I languish, pine, and waste away.

I, to alarm her, will aloud complain,

And more disorders than I suffer feign;

Say my head aches, sharp pains my limbs oppress,
That she may feel and pity my distress.
Ah Cyclops, Cyclops! where's your reason fled?
If with the leafy spray your lambs you fed,

Αδιον εν τώντρῳ παρ' εμιν ταν νυκτα διαξεις
Εντι δαφναι τηνει, εντι ῥαδιναι κυπαρισσοι,
Εντι μελας κισσος, εντ' αμπελος & γλυκύκαρπος
Εντι ψυχρον ύδως, το μοι & πολυδενδρεος Αιτνα
Αευκας εκ χιονος, ποτον αμβροσιον, προϊητι.
Τις κεν τωνδε θαλασσαν εχειν η κυμαθ ̓ ἑλοιτο;
Αι δε τοι αυτος εγω δοκεω λασιωτερος ημες,
Εντι δρυος ξυλα μοι, και ύπο σποδῳ ακάματον πυρ
Καιόμενος δ' ύπο του και ταν ψυχαν ανεχοίμαν,
Και τον εν' οφθαλμον, τω μοι γλυκερώτερον ουδεν.
μοι ότ ουκ ετεκεν μ' ἁ ματης βραγχι' εχοντα,
Ως κατεδυν ποτι τιν, και ταν χέρα του εφιλασα,
Αι μη το στομα λης έφερον δε τοι η κρινα λευκα,
Η μακων ἁπαλαν, ερυθρα πλαταγωνι' εχοισαν·
Αλλα τα μεν θερεος, τα δε γίνεται εν χειμωνι
Ωστ' ουκ αν τοι ταυτα φερειν ἅμα παντ' εδυνάσθην.
Νυν μαν ω κοριον, νυν αυτοθι νειν γε μαθευμάς,
Αικα τις συν ναϊ πλεων ξενος ὧδ' αφίκηται,

Ως κεν ιδω τι ποθ ̓ ἁδυ κατοικειν τον βυθον ύμμιν.
Εξενθοις, Γαλάτεια, και εξενθοισα λαθοιο,
Ώσπερ εγω νυν ὧδε καθημενος, οικαδ' απενθειν.
Ποιμαίνειν δ' εθελοις συν εμιν ἁμα, και γαλ' άμελγειν,
Και τύρον παξαι, ταμισον δριμείαν ενεισα.

αδικει με μόνα, και μεμφομαι αυτά.
Ουδεν πα ποχ ̓ ὅλως ποτι τιν φιλον ειπεν ύπες μευ,
Και ταυτ', άμαρ επ' άμας όρευσα με λεπτον εοντα.
Φασω ταν κεφαλαν και τως πόδας αμφοτέρως μεν
Σφυσδειν, ὡς ανιαθή, επει πηγων ανιώμαι.
Ω Κύκλωψ, Κυκλωψ, πα τας φρένας εκπεπότασαι;




Or ev❜n wove baskets, you would seem more wise;
Milk the first cow, pursue not her that flies:

You'll soon, since Galatea proves unkind,

A sweeter, fairer Galatea find.


16. More happy than the gods is he
Who, soft reclining, sits by thee;
His ears thy pleasing talk beguiles,
His eyes thy sweetly dimpled smiles.
This, this, alas! alarm'd my breast,
And robb'd me of my golden rest:
While gazing on thy charms I hung,
My voice died faltering on my tongue.
With subtle flames my bosom glows,
Quick through each vein the poison flows.
Dark dimming mists my eyes surround,
My ears with hollow murmurs sound.
My limbs with dewy chillness freeze,
On my whole frame pale tremblings seize,
And losing colour, sense, and breath,
I seem quite languishing to death.


17. Too daring prince! ah, whither dost thou run? Ah! too neglectful of thy wife and son;

And think'st thou not how wretched we shall be,

A widow I, a helpless orphan he?

For sure such courage length of life denies,

And thou must fall thy virtue's sacrifice.
Greece in her single heroes strove in vain,
Now hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain.
O grant me, gods! ere Hector meets his doom,
All I can ask of heaven, an early tomb!

Αικ' ενθων ταλαβως τε πλεκοις, και θαλλον αμασας
Τοις αρνεσσι φεροις, ταχα κεν πολυ μαλλον εχοις νουν.
Ταν παρέοισαν αμέλγει τι τον φεύγοντα διώκεις;
Εύρησεις Γαλατειαν ισως και καλλιον αλλαν. Theocr.

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17. Δαιμονιε, φθίσει σε το σον μενος, ουδ' ελεαίρεις
Παιδα τε νηπιαχον, και εμ' αμμορον, ἡ ταχα χηρη
Σεν εσομαι ταχα γας δε κατακτανεουσιν Αχαιοι,
Παντες εφορμηθεντες· εμοι δε κε κερδιον ετη

Σαν αφαμαρτούση χθονα δυμεναι' ου γαρ έτ' άλλη


So shall my days in one sad tenor run,
And end with sorrows as they first begun.
No parent now remains my grief to share,
No father's aid, no mother's tender care.
The fierce Achilles wrapt our walls in fire!
Laid Thebe waste, and slew my warlike sire.
His fate compassion in the victor bred,
Stern as he was, he yet revered the dead;
His radiant arms preserved from hostile spoil,
And laid him decent on the funeral pile;

Then raised a mountain where his bones were burn'd
The mountain nymphs the rural tomb adorn'd,
Jove's sylvan daughters bade their elms bestow
A barren shade, and in his honour grow.

By the same arm my seven brave brothers fell;
In one sad day beheld the gates of hell:.
While the fat herds and snowy flocks they fed;
Amid their fields the hapless heroes bled!
My mother lived to bear the victor's bands,
The queen of Hypoplacia's sylvan lands:
Redeem'd too late, she scarce beheld again
Her pleasing empire, and her native plain,
When, ah! opprest by life-consuming woe,
She fell a victim to Diana's bow.

Yet, while my Hector still survives, I see My father, mother, brethren, all, in thee: Alas! my parents, brothers, kindred, all, Once more will perish, if my Hector fall. Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share: Oh prove a husband's and a father's care! That quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy, Where yon wild fig-tree joins the walls of Troy: Thou from this tower defend th' important post; There Agamemnon points his dreadful host. That pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain, And there the vengeful Spartan fires his train. Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have given, Or led by hopes, or dictated from Heaven.

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