Virgil

Let owls too vie with swans.

Once more, ye woods, farewell!

In the moment I saw you I lost my heart, and a fatal frenzy swept me away.

We sing to no deaf ears; the woods echo every note.

Songs can even draw the moon down from heaven.

Begin, baby boy! The child who has not won a smile from his parents, no god ever honored with his table, no goddess with her bed!

Trust not too much to that enchanting face;

Beauty's a charm, but soon the charm will pass.

To compare great things with small.

We are leaving our country's bounds and sweet fields.

Ah, lovely boy, trust not too much to your bloom!

The Britons utterly separated from the whole world.

We cannot all do everything.