Pastorale

Just sound, you lively flute,

the charming rosy dawn

still with a thousand colours plays here,

and this bleating turmoil,

under a clearing sky,

scrambles in the bedewed grass;

there from leafy bushes,

the song of pleasing birds

and a gentle echo

mingle in the quiet breeze!

Sound, gentle pipe! and say:

Phillis comes this day

to Thyrsis' meadow,

Phillis, whom my heart loves,

Phillis, to whom I give myself,

Phillis my shepherdess.

Seek to favour Phillis,

my flute's loud tone!

Even forest and hill learn already

to babble of my Phillis.