Mine be the task to approach the savage youth,
And bend his will relentless to our own.
Chorus: Thou goddess, child of the foaming sea,
Thou mother of love, how fierce are the flames, 275
And how sharp are the darts of thy petulant boy;
How deadly of aim his bow.
Deep to the heart the poison sinks
When the veins are imbued with his hidden flame; 280
No gaping wound upon the breast
Does his arrow leave; but far within
It burns with consuming fire.
No peace or rest does he give; world wide
Are his flying weapons sown abroad:
The shores that see the rising sun, 285
And the land that lies at the goal of the west;
The south where raging Cancer glows,
And the land of the cold Arcadian Bear
With its ever-wandering tribes—all know
And have felt the fires of love. 290
The hot blood of youth he rouses to madness,
The smouldering embers of age he rekindles,
And even the innocent breasts of maids
Are stirred by passion unknown.
He bids the immortals desert the skies
And dwell on the earth in forms assumed. 295
For love, Apollo kept the herds
Of Thessaly's king, and, his lyre unused,
He called to his bulls on the gentle pipe.
How oft has Jove himself put on
The lower forms of life, who rules
The sky and the clouds. Now a bird he seems, 300
With white wings hovering, with voice
More sweet than the song of the dying swan;
Now with lowering front, as a wanton bull,
He offers his back to the sport of maids;
And soon through his brother's waves he floats, 305
With his hoofs like sturdy oars, and his breast
Stoutly opposing the waves, in fear
