And from their bite drew off the ill.
But ah! his medicines could not heal
The death-wound dealt by Dardan steel; 20
His slumberous charms availed him nought,
Nor herbs on Marsian mountains sought
And cropped with magic shears;
For thee Anguitia’s woody cave,
For thee the glassy Fucine wave, 25
For thee the lake shed tears.
From green Aricia, bent on fame,