Ibycus
but Love in me at no season is laid to rest. Like the North Wind of Thrace that comes blazing with lightning, he rushes upon me, sent by the Cyprian goddess with withering frenzies, dark-lowering, undaunted, and from the foundations he overwhelms and devestates my heart. 286
Once again Love, as he looks at me meltingly under dark eyelashes, tries to induce me with every enticement to enter the Cyprian goddess's endless hunting-net. By heaven, I tremble upon his approach like a champion horse who is feeling his age and is led once again to the chariot-yoke for a race. 287
Along land built of stone collected by human hands, where formerly ravening fish kept company with sea-snails. 321
If it keeps clear of the wave-tops, no rope comes to harm. 330
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