XLIII
Αμφὶ δὲ [ὕδωρ] ψῦχρον κελάδει δι’ ὔσδων
μαλίνων, αἰθυσσομένων δὲ φύλλων
κῶμα καταρρεῖ·
COOL water gurgles through
The apple-boughs, and sleep
Falls from the flickering leaves,
Where hoary shadows keep
Secluded from man's view
A little cave that cleaves
The rock with fissure deep.
Worshipped with milk and oil,
There dwell the Nymphs, and there
They listen to the breeze,
About their dewy hair
The clustered garlands coil,
Or, moving round the trees,
Cherish the roots with care.
There reign delight and health;
There freshness yields the palm
To musical refrain;
For never was such calm,
Such sound of murmuring stealth,
Such solace to the brain,
To weariness such balm.
Even a lover's pains,
Though fiercely they have raged,
Here find at last relief:
The heart by sorrow aged
Divinely youth regains;
Tears steal through parched grief:
All passion is assuaged.
