Eclogues / Virgil
| dc.contributor | Project Eris University of Notre Dame Notre Dame |
| dc.contributor.author | Virgil |
| dc.coverage.placeName | s.l. |
| dc.date.accessioned | 2018-07-27 |
| dc.date.accessioned | 2019-07-04T10:01:38Z |
| dc.date.available | 2019-07-04T10:01:38Z |
| dc.date.created | 1921 |
| dc.date.issued | 1994-01-12 |
| dc.identifier | ota:2014 |
| dc.identifier.citation | http://purl.ox.ac.uk/ota/2014 |
| dc.identifier.uri | http://hdl.handle.net/20.500.12024/2014 |
| dc.description.abstract | Textual evidence suggests that this is 1921 edition translated into English by James Rhoades. |
| dc.format.extent | Text data (1 file : ca. 49 KB) |
| dc.format.medium | Digital bitstream |
| dc.language | English |
| dc.language.iso | eng |
| dc.publisher | University of Oxford |
| dc.relation.ispartof | Oxford Text Archive Core Collection |
| dc.rights | Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. |
| dc.rights.uri | http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/ |
| dc.rights.label | PUB |
| dc.subject.lcsh | Latin poetry -- 1st century B.C. |
| dc.subject.other | Poems |
| dc.title | Eclogues / Virgil |
| dc.type | Text |
| has.files | yes |
| branding | Oxford Text Archive |
| files.size | 54473 |
| files.count | 2 |
| otaterms.date.range | 1900-1999 |
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37 BC
THE ECLOGUES
by Virgil
ECLOGUE I
MELIBOEUS TITYRUS
MELIBOEUS
You, Tityrus, 'neath a broad beech-canopy
Reclining, on the slender oat rehearse
Your silvan ditties: I from my sweet fields,
And home's familiar bounds, even now depart.
Exiled from home am I; while, Tityrus, you
Sit careless in the shade, and, at your call,
"Fair Amaryllis" bid the woods resound.
TITYRUS
O Meliboeus, 'twas a god vouchsafed
This ease to us, for him a god will I
Deem ever, and from my folds a tender lamb
Oft with its life-blood shall his altar stain.
His gift it is that, as your eyes may see,
My kine may roam at large, and I myself
Play on my shepherd's pipe what songs I will.
MELIBOEUS
I grudge you not the boon, but marvel more,
Such wide confusion fills the country-side.
See, sick at heart I drive my she-goats on, . . .
