322.
The walls of the moist Tibur then flood, which was founded by
the Greeks.
_Ibid._
For little folks become their little fate,
And at my age, not Rome’s imperial seat,
...
But Tibur’s solitude my taste can please.
325.
When retired to the cool dream of Digentia, which supplies the
cold village of Mandela with water; what, my friend, do you
imagine, are my sentiments and wishes?
_Ibid._
Pan from Arcadia’s heights descends,
To visit oft my rural seat——