Virgil

With Jove my song begins; of Jove all things are full.

God gave us this leisure.

The trees are clothed with leaves, the fields with grass;

The blossoms blow; the birds on bushes sing;

And Nature has accomplished all the spring.

Happy old man! Here, amid familiar streams and sacred springs, you shall enjoy the cooling shade.

Each is led by his liking.

A shepherd, Corydon, burned with love for his master’s favourite,

Handsome Alexis.

Look, ploughs feather the ground as the ox-teams draw them home,

And a declining sun enlarges the lengthening shadows:

Yet love still scorches me—love has no lull, no limit.

Everyone is dragged on by their favorite pleasure.

Let us go singing as far as we go: the road will be less tedious.

Freedom, which came at length, though slow to come.

Aeneid, trans. Frederick Ahl (Oxford World's Classics, 2008),

Vivendo vici mea fata.