Page:Eclogues of Virgil (1908).djvu/20

 Should, as of late, dry up the flow of milk,

Then vainly would our hands their udders press.

Alas, how lean of flesh, amidst the tares

My bull has grown! well, love has wrought the same

Ruin, alike to herd and herdsmen both.

Nay, but love certainly is not the cause

With these—why, to their bones they scarcely cling,

What evil eye is cast on my young lambs?

If thou canst tell me in what lands the sky

Seems but three ells in width, thou shalt to me

Be as the great Apollo oracle.

Rather tell me where I can find the lands

In which flowers bloom, printed with names of kings,

Then Phyllis shalt thou claim, as all thine own.

Such rivalry as yours, I cannot judge

The heifer both of you deserve, and so,

Whoever fears sweet love, or tasted has

Love's bitterness, that one is worthy too.

Lads! it is time to turn the streams aside

The thirsty meadows now have drunk their fill.