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O Arethusa, help me once again

To string some verses for my Gallus' ear,

Fit for Lycoris fair herself to read.

To Gallus mine, who would refuse such songs?

So may the bitter stream that Doris pours

Mingle not with thy wave as thou dost flow

Into the flood that loves fair Sicily!

We may begin to tell of Gallus' loves,

Our flat-nosed she-goats nibbling hard the while

The tender plants. To deaf ears sing we not,

The forest echoes all our tuneful lays.

What glades did ye frequent, ye Naiads young

While Gallus pined in chains of cruel Love?

Ye lingered not upon Parnassus' slopes

Nor yet on Pindas did your steps delay

Whilst e'en the laurels wept, to see him lie

So sad, beneath the cliff, where the cold stones

Of stern Lycæus seemed to share his grief

His sheep surround him, staring at his woe.

Divinest poet, do not scorn thy flock!