Farewell, shapely hills and land known to the nymphs, flowing fountains, caves hung above the fountains, and shadows of the woods, which aforetime brought me sweet idleness and love. . . .
Gentle music of the river shall hush me to sleep no more in the lap of the grasses. No more shall I carve love-songs for Amaryllis — she who of old twined lilies in scented garlands seated under the shady willows among her flocks, or soothed her limbs with gentle sleep. . . .

Happy winds, girdled with zephyrs, who about dewy gardens nourish eternal flowers and soft greensward in the returning spring—to you Corydon dedicates this grove of Idalian myrtle and Peneidian laurel, from green turf raises seven altars by the margin of this mossy pool.
Lighten the heat, and with glad murmuring appease the brilliant rays of the burning sun. So may clouds never darken your wanderings, so for you may the sea laugh and the earth.

The dust in the hour-glass which returns again and again upon its narrow path of old was Alcippus. When he looked on Galla's eyes he was as fire; and suddenly from fire he became ashes.
O restless dust, from you unhappy lovers may know that for them there can be no rest.

Farewell, sun-smitten mountain peaks, farewell, shady haunts among the valleys: Iolas departs from your recesses. Hapless Iolas! No more will you see the meadows that are so pleasant to the lowing kine with odorous marybuds and marjoram.
Hapless Iolas! Sunk in the cool grass of the sloping hill, you will no longer see the bullocks warring fiercely with their horns.
Not the murmuring of sliding rills, the whispering of ilexboughs, shall soothe you, nor the wind lure you to the land of sleep.

The bones under the bare down's back
Are buried deep and coloured black
In round protruding tumuli
Which crown the hill half in the sky —
A mighty urn for any man,
Inscribed for all the world to scan:
" Here the rains are born and here
Man's skeleton and earth's cohere. "

Moon, jewel of the skies, two-crested queen of the stars, who move high across the heaven — I go to my mistress, the fairest shepherdess that ever pastured sheep.
Grant me light, clear goddess, for fear any mischance prevent this stolen happiness. May you ever shine with your own light, and ever equal the rays of the great sun!

The bright drops play among the lilies when the shower falls in a film of water. The dew hangs on the roses when the dawn breathes cold and sweet.
This is the image of weeping Lygda — and love burns me with her tears!

The flowers spring up in the greensward; the wood puts forth green leaves; the sun shines clearer, the clouds melt from the sky and the snow from the earth.
This is the image of laughing Lygda and thus grief melts from her face.

Antique Kings Ninevaean, Jesus named Galilaean,
barbaric Earls — Paladen — me they admitted in use.
In me ran royal wine, an Ionian hillside's harvest,
lucid like Pharphar, sanguine as old Simois.
Now I captive immured he languishing; hardly shall aught now
Shine forth of my immense Splendour inexpressible.
Ho! mummified dynasts! rock coffin of Andaean Incas!
are all princely spirits fled with us, O Tumuli!

Thunder! And the whole wood roaring with a vast gale — streams of beating rain!
Night, with sleep-bearing wings, girdled around with awful clouds, darkens the blind earth.
But, conquered by the strength of cruel Venus, I come to keep a vigil at my lady's door. Winter rages; the gale rages overhead; but more fiercely Love rages in my heart.