Theocritus, translated into English Verse. Theocritus

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СКАЧАТЬ Atalanta's heart was won by this;

      She marked, and maddening sank in Love's abyss.

      From Othrys did the seer Melampus stray

      To Pylos with his herd: and lo there lay

      In a swain's arms a maid of beauty rare;

      Alphesiboea, wise of heart, she bare.

      Did not Adonis rouse to such excess

      Of frenzy her whose name is Loveliness,

      (He a mere lad whose wethers grazed the hill)

      That, dead, he's pillowed on her bosom still?

      Endymion sleeps the sleep that changeth not:

      And, maiden mine, I envy him his lot!

      Envy Iasion's: his it was to gain

      Bliss that I dare not breathe in ears profane.

      My head aches. What reck'st thou? I sing no more:

      E'en where I fell I'll lie, until the wolves

      Rend me—may that be honey in thy mouth!

IDYLL IV.

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