II PASTORAL SONG

LET us sing a pastoral song; call upon Pan, god of the wind of summer. Selenis and I each watch our flocks, from the round shadow of an olive tree which trembles.

Selenis lies upon the meadow. She raises herself and runs, searches for grasshoppers, gathers the flowers and herbs or bathes her face in the cool waters of the brook.

And I—I draw up the wool from the white backs of the sheep to garnish my distaff, and I spin. The hours move slowly. In the sky, an eagle passes.

The shadow turns; let us move the basket of flowers and the jar of milk. Let us sing a pastoral song, call upon Pan, god of the wind of summer.