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1

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New strung his bow, new fill'd his quiver.

II.

With skill he chose his sharpest dart,

With all his might his bow he drew;

Swift to his beauteous parent's heart

The too well-guided arrow flew.

A

ΕΙΣ ΈΡΩΤΑ ΣΦΑΛΕΝΤΑ.

Μεσημβριναις ποθ' ωραις,

Φλεγονος ηλιοιο,
Έκδυσε Κυπρις ειμα,
Και λεετ' εν ροαισι.
Εν τωδ' Έρως προσης,
Πλειην βελων φαρέθρην,
Ωπλισμενοςτε τοξον.

Τιταινε τοξον αυτG,
Βελεμνον ήρσεν οξυ
Νευροισι, μεσσον ηααρ
Ετυπίε και Κυθηρην.

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