Melodious Arethusa, o’er my verse
Shed thou once more the spirit of thy stream: 
Who denies verse to Gallus?  So, when thou
Glidest beneath the green and purple gleam
Of Syracusan waters, mayst thou flow 5
Unmingled with the bitter Doric dew! 
Begin, and, whilst the goats are browsing now
The soft leaves, in our way let us pursue
The melancholy loves of Gallus.  List! 
We sing not to the dead:  the wild woods knew 10
His sufferings, and their echoes... 
Young Naiads,...in what far woodlands wild
Wandered ye when unworthy love possessed
Your Gallus?  Not where Pindus is up-piled,
Nor where Parnassus’ sacred mount, nor where 15
Aonian Aganippe expands... 
The laurels and the myrtle-copses dim. 
The pine-encircled mountain, Maenalus,
The cold crags of Lycaeus, weep for him;
And Sylvan, crowned with rustic coronals, 20
Came shaking in his speed the budding wands
And heavy lilies which he bore:  we knew
Pan the Arcadian.

...

’What madness is this, Gallus?  Thy heart’s care With willing steps pursues another there.’ 25

***

THE SAME.

(As revised by Mr. C.D.  Locock.)

Melodious Arethusa, o’er my verse
Shed thou once more the spirit of thy stream: 

(Two lines missing.)

Who denies verse to Gallus?  So, when thou
Glidest beneath the green and purple gleam
Of Syracusan waters, mayest thou flow 5
Unmingled with the bitter Dorian dew! 
Begin, and whilst the goats are browsing now
The soft leaves, in our song let us pursue
The melancholy loves of Gallus.  List! 
We sing not to the deaf:  the wild woods knew 10
His sufferings, and their echoes answer... 
Young Naiades, in what far woodlands wild
Wandered ye, when unworthy love possessed
Our Gallus?  Nor where Pindus is up-piled,
Nor where Parnassus’ sacred mount, nor where 15
Aonian Aganippe spreads its...

(Three lines missing.)

The laurels and the myrtle-copses dim,
The pine-encircled mountain, Maenalus,
The cold crags of Lycaeus weep for him.

(Several lines missing.)

’What madness is this, Gallus? thy heart’s care, 20
Lycoris, mid rude camps and Alpine snow,
With willing step pursues another there.’

(Some lines missing.)

And Sylvan, crowned with rustic coronals,
Came shaking in his speed the budding wands
And heavy lilies which he bore:  we knew 25
Pan the Arcadian with....
...and said,
’Wilt thou not ever cease?  Love cares not. 
The meadows with fresh streams, the bees with thyme,
The goats with the green leaves of budding spring 30
Are saturated not—­nor Love with tears.’