Virgil

In vain you have tried your slippery native tricks.

Supreme ruler of gods, pity, I beg,

The Arcadian king, and hear a father's prayer:

If by thy will my son survives, and fate

Spares him, and if I live to see him still,

To meet him yet again, I pray for life;

There is no trouble I cannot endure.

But, Fortune, if you threaten some black day,

Now, now let me break off my bitter life

While all's in doubt, while hope of what's to come

Remains uncertain, while I hold you here,

Dear boy, my late delight, my only one—

And may no graver message ever come

To wound my ears.

First, the sky and the earth and the flowing fields of the sea,

the shining orb of the moon and the Titan sun, the stars:

an inner spirit feeds them, coursing through all their limbs,

mind stirs the mass and their fusion brings the world to birth.

Thinking deeply, and pitying deep in his soul the injustice they suffer.

These gifts at least, these honours I'll bestow

On the dear youth, to please his shade below.

Here is our home, here is our fatherland.

And fired his soul with love of fame that was to be.

By length of time

The scurf is worn away of each committed crime;

No speck is left of their habitual stains,

But the pure ether of the soul remains.

Hapless Theseus sits and evermore shall sit.

Spirits they are, to whom second bodies are owed by Fate, and at the water of Lethe's stream they drink the soothing draught and long forgetfulness.

Fair golden tresses grace the comely train,

And every warrior wears a golden chain.

Embroider'd vests their snowy limbs infold;

And their rich robes are all adorn'd with gold.

Two Alpine spears with martial pride they wield,

And guard their bodies with an ample shield.

Hence could be heard the angry growls of lions.