DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.38687#0113
wander over the Maenalan highlands, or hunt the
fierce wild boar; no freezing weather shall keep me
from girdling the Parthenian glades with my hounds*
This very moment I seem to fly along the rocky ways
and echoing groves* 1 thrill to send the Cydonian
arrow from the Parthian bow* As though this were a
medicine of my madnesst or demon Love could learn
mercy for ill-used men! No longernow the girls of the
woodlands, hamadryadst have any charm for me, nor
making poems to win them* Away all you woodland
world! Love is pitiless, and is not moved by toil and
travail; not though we suffer the bleak Thracian win-
ter, braving the sleet and snows of Sithonia and the
wintry floods, nor, when the inner bark of the elm
is parched and perishing, if, daring that fierce heat, we
should wander with Ethiopian flocks under the sky of
Cancer* Love lords it over all ;let us too submit to Love*
ivinE MUSES, let these songs close the work
of your servant, sung while he sits and twines
a basket of hibiscus withes* You will enhance
them in the eyes of Gallus, Gallus, for whom my love
grows hourly greater, as the green alder shooting up
in early springtime* Up, now, for evening shade is not
good for singing* Nor is it good to sit in the shade of
the juniper, chilly shade is harmful even for the crops*
Home you go full-fed, the star of evening rises, home-
ward, my herd of goats*
fierce wild boar; no freezing weather shall keep me
from girdling the Parthenian glades with my hounds*
This very moment I seem to fly along the rocky ways
and echoing groves* 1 thrill to send the Cydonian
arrow from the Parthian bow* As though this were a
medicine of my madnesst or demon Love could learn
mercy for ill-used men! No longernow the girls of the
woodlands, hamadryadst have any charm for me, nor
making poems to win them* Away all you woodland
world! Love is pitiless, and is not moved by toil and
travail; not though we suffer the bleak Thracian win-
ter, braving the sleet and snows of Sithonia and the
wintry floods, nor, when the inner bark of the elm
is parched and perishing, if, daring that fierce heat, we
should wander with Ethiopian flocks under the sky of
Cancer* Love lords it over all ;let us too submit to Love*
ivinE MUSES, let these songs close the work
of your servant, sung while he sits and twines
a basket of hibiscus withes* You will enhance
them in the eyes of Gallus, Gallus, for whom my love
grows hourly greater, as the green alder shooting up
in early springtime* Up, now, for evening shade is not
good for singing* Nor is it good to sit in the shade of
the juniper, chilly shade is harmful even for the crops*
Home you go full-fed, the star of evening rises, home-
ward, my herd of goats*