Catalepton
IX.1-2: Speak a little while with me, learned Muses, do tell, but of nothing unknown to snow white Phoebus; a few words lend to me.
XIV: If I am to further my undertaking, to traverse all the world, O Venus, who dwells in Paphos and in Idalian groves, so that Trojan Aeneas is thought worthy at last to sail with You in song through Roman towns, not only with incense or painted tablet shall I adorn Your temple, and with pure hands bring You garlands, but a humble offering of a horned ram and a bull, the greatest sacrifice, their blood a priest shall sprinkle into the fire of an altar erected in Your honor, and a marble painted in a thousand colours for You, a picture of Amor with His quiver. Come, O Goddess of Cythera, Your own Caesar and an altar along Sorrento's shore beckon You from Olympus.
Eclogues
4.8-10: Only do you, at the boy's birth, in whom a golden race now arises the world over, and the men of iron first begin to pass away, you alone favor him, chaste Lucina; indeed your own Apollo reigns.
4.48-52: Take up your greatness, the time grows near, dear son of the Gods, magnificent offspring of Jupiter. Behold what the starry vault of the heavens foretells the world to consider, the whole wide earth, the vast seas, and all the profound heavens, behold, joyfully, the birth of ages.
5.65-80: A God, a God is he, Menalcas! May you be kind and good to your own. Look! Four altars: Here are two for you, Daphnis, and two for Phoebus. Each year two cups of new frothing milk, and two bowls of rich olive oil will be set before your statues, and above all the gift of Bacchus will greatly gladden our convivial feast. If winter?s cold approaches, then before a warm altar fire, if summer heat still lingers, then beneath the shade, the nectar harvested in baskets from Ariusian estates. Damoetas and Lyctian Aegon shall sing for me, and Alphesiboeus shall emulate the dancing Satyrs. This will always be yours, when we recall our yearly vows to the Nymphs, and when we perform the lustral rites in a blessing of the fields. For as long as the boar shall love the mountain heights, and fish shall love the flowing streams, for as long as bees will set upon the thyme and the crickets feed on dew, always your name will be honored and praised. As for Bacchus and Ceres, so too for you, each year the farmers will make their vows, and you will likewise oblige them these to fulfill.
7.21-4: Nymphs of Libethrides, our hearts? desire, grant me a song, as do my Codrus, next to Apollo in verse is he, or if all this is not possible for we to do, these melodious pipes shall hang from your sacred pine.
7.33-6: Priapus, a large cup of milk and this libum bread is all you can expect each year, guardian of a pauper?s garden. For a while yet your image is carved in stone, but if at breeding time you make good the herds, then of gold your image we shall make.
8.62-109: You Pieridian maidens, Muses all, tell me how Alphesiboeus responded, we cannot all do all things. (Alphesiboeus said), ?Bring water, and gird this altar with soft wool fillets, burn rich vervain and male frankincense, that I may attempt, with magic spells and sacrifice, to turn aside my love's wiser senses, nothing is to be missing save the force of my song. Away from the city, away from his home, my charms, draw Daphnis forth to me.
Spells can draw down the moon from the heavens; Circe's incantations changed Ulysses? friends from their human forms; furthermore, by singing charms the cold-blooded serpent is burst apart. Away from the city, away from his home, my charms, draw Daphnis forth to me.
Three times around I first bind you with this thread of three diverse colours, then three times I lead your effigy around this altar. Uneven numbers please the gods. Away from the city, away from his home, my charms, draw Daphnis forth to me.
Bind, Amaryllis, with triple knots the three coloured strings together. Bind, Amaryllis, while singing a charm in this manner, "A chain of Venus I weave, a chain of Venus I weave, a chain of Venus I weave to bind my lover." Away from the city, away from his home, my charms, draw Daphnis forth to me.
As this clay image shall harden its heart towards others, and this wax figure shall soften to me by this very same fire, so too, by our love, will Daphnis be towards me. Pay with a mole of salt and burn the fragile bay leaf with bitumen; as cruel Daphnis makes me burn, so I with this laurel shall make Daphnis to burn for me. Away from the city, away from his home, my charms, draw Daphnis forth to me.
Such is my love for Daphnis, even as a wearied heifer who through forest grove and woodland heights seeks out a young steer to stud her, near the water of a mountain stream, will bend down upon green sedge, abandoned, does not think to return to the safety behind bolted gates at the descent of night, such my love keeps hold of me, no cures shall remedy me. Away from the city, away from his home, my charms, draw Daphnis forth to me.
These garments my unfaithful lover once left to me as a pledge of his love. These now, O Earth, on this very threshold I give to you; these pledges Daphnis, bound by charms and promises, must reclaim. Away from the city, away from his home, my charms, draw Daphnis forth to me.
These herbs Moeris gave to me, poisons he picked herself in Pontus, (Pontus where many such baneful herbs are born). Often have I seen Moeris changed by such herbs into the form of wolf and conceal himself in the forest. Often have I seen him summon souls from their graves, and seen him transport a harvest of grain across to a fallow field. Away from the city, away from his home, my charms, draw Daphnis forth to me.
Carry the ashes outside, Amaryllis, to the flowing stream, and throw them over your head; do not look back. With this I will attack the heart of Daphnis; he cares nothing for the Gods, he cares nothing for charms. Away from the city, away from his home, my charms, draw Daphnis forth to me.
Look! The embers stir themselves to seize upon the altar with rising flames, while I delay to carry them. May it be a good omen. I know not for certain what it is, and yet Hylax, as a sign, on the threshold barks! May we believe it? Or do lovers only fool themselves with wishful dreams? Away from the city, away from his home, my charms, draw Daphnis forth to me.
10.9-15: What sacred grove had held you, or which woodland glade kept you, maiden Naiads, while for love, an unworthy love, Gallus lay wasting away? Neither the summits of Parnassus, nor the slopes of Pindus could have made you delay any then, not even Aganippe of the Aones. For Gallus even the laurels and tamarisks wept, for him also, as he lay alone, flung outstretched and dying beneath the rocky cliff, even pine-maned Mount Maenalus and the snow covered rocks of Lycaeus wept.
Georgics
1.5-23: O most glorious lights above, stars illuminating the universe, you lead in the gliding year. Liber and gentle Ceres, if by your gifts the earth once changed, exchanging Chaonian acorns for rich heads of grain, and receiving your invention of wine from Acheloian cups, and you Fauns, your divine presence an aid for rustics, bring dancing feet, as when Dryad girls frolic with Fauns, of your gifts I sing. And you, O Neptune, for whom the earth first brought forth the horse from her womb by the pounding of your trident; and inhabitant of sacred groves, for whom three hundred snow white heifers graze along fertile Ceaean thickets, quitting your own native woodlands and Lycean pastures, Pan, patron god of shepherds and sheep alike, though your love for Mount Maenalus calls to you, come, O Tegean Pan, favoring us with your presence. And Minerva, inventrix of olive oil; and the boy inventor of the curved plough, Silvanus, carrying tender cypress saplings. All you Gods and Goddesses, whose affection is to watch over fields, both nourish seeds to rise up as the earth's new bounty and send ample rain down from the heavens.
1.498-501: Gods of our Fathers, Indigetes, heroes native to this land, Romulus and Mother Vesta, who preserve Etruscan Tiber and Roman Palatine, in this at least do not prohibit, a young savior come to the aid of a generation decimated by war.
2.2-8: Now shall I sing of you, Bacchus. Without you there would be no woodland or thicket, or slow growing olive grove. Come hither, O Lenaean Father, all things here beckon to be nurtured by your many gifts, the autumn vineshoots laden the countryside with blossoms, the vintage grape harvest foams plentiful to the lips of the wine vats. Hasten, O Lenaean Father, come and, stripped down, tinge your naked feet in new wine must with me.
3.1-2: Also you, great Pales, in memory of you we sing, shepherd of Amphrysis, and all of you who come from forests and streams on mount Lycaeus in Arcadia.
4.321-32: Cyrenean Mother, who lives beyond the deep abyss, Mother from harsh African shores, (o if only Thymbraen Apollo, who you call beautiful progeny of the Gods, were my father), why have you borne me such a hateful fate? Why has your love for me been driven from your heart? Why did you ever bid me hope for heaven? Look, when even the reward of this mortal life in itself becomes onerous, when success comes with difficulty and all my attempts at skillful husbandry will be for naught, I forsake that you should be my mother. Why do you not just come forth and with your own hand pluck up my fruit filled plantation, set inimical fires upon my stables, and then kill off my harvest, scorch the young shoots with drought, and take a double-edged axe to my grape vines, if you loath so much whatever praises my effort has brought me?