ABSTRACT
“Phoebus has already arrived at mid-heaven and he gazes with more direct glance, shortening the shadows of objects that come before him; and soft Zephyr comforts whoever flees Apollo and seeks the shade, until his light–which pastures in the wet sea and on earth takes whatever food pleases his deity–is less scalding. And each beast, now hidden and ruminating on what he grazed in the morning sun, keeps to his cavern and waits for the sun to grow old. The violets hide among the grass because of the heat that has overtaken them, and the other flowers, with head bent, show how sorely it afflicts than. No shepherd remains outside any longer with his sheep in the open fields, but instead they temper the fervor of the sun in the shade. The woods are silent, and so is all within then that usually makes noise; and all that was manifest to low-lying Apollo is now hidden there. Now the nets, once hidden, are spread; and the bows, relaxed from the heat, cannot offer their painful injuries; nor are the sharp tools so strong, now that they have been warmed by the hot rays burning upon them.
