Lo! a white goat, and twins, I keep for thee:
Mermnon's lass covets them: dark she is of skin:
But yet hers be they; thou but foolest me.
She cometh, by the quivering of mine eye.
I'll lean against the pine-tree here and sing.
She may look round: she is not adamant.
[Sings] Hippomenes, when he a maid would wed,
Took apples in his hand and on he sped.
Famed Atalanta's heart was won by this;
She marked, and maddening sank in Love's abyss.