To him from the humid depths sang forth the nymph of the lake,
“Come to us, Quintus Valerius!
“Here to our grottoes descend still the sun rays, but silvery
and mild as those of Cynthia.
“Here the assiduous tumults that burden thy life but resemble
the distant humming of bees,
“and, in the silence cool, thy cares, all frenzied and fearful,
gently fade into oblivion.
“Here the fresh air, here the sleep, the soothing music and chorus
of the cerulean virgins,