Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Tityrus, reclining beneath the cover of a spreading beech tree you practice a woodland melody on the slender pipe. We are leaving the borders of our fatherland and the sweet fields. We are fleeing from our fatherland. You, Tityrus, at your ease in the shade teach the woods to echo beautiful Amaryllis' name.
Tityre, tu patulae recubans sub tegmine fagi
silvestrem tenui Musam meditaris avena;
nos patriae finis et dulcia linquimus arva.
nos patriam fugimus; tu, Tityre, lentus in umbra
formosam resonare doces Amaryllida silvas.