Pastoral Song

We must sing a pastoral song, invoke Pan,

god of the summer wind. I watch my flock

and Sélénis watches hers, in the round

shade of a trembling olive tree.

Sélénis is lying in the meadow.

She rises and runs, or searches for grasshoppers,

or gathers flowers with grasses,

or washes her face in the cool water of the brook.

And I, I tear the wool from the blond backs of the sheep

to fill up my distaff, and I spin.

The hours pass too slowly.

An eagle passes in the sky.

The shade turns, let us move the basket

of figs and the jar of milk.

We must sing a pastoral song,

invoke Pan, god of the summer wind.