f his mouth, and his blushing complexion
mingled with the whiteness of snow; and everything he admires, for which
he himself is worthy to be admired. In his ignorance, he covets himself;
and he that approves, is himself {the thing} approved. While he pursues
he is pursued, and at the same moment he inflames and burns. How often
does he give vain kisses to the deceitful spring; how often does he
thrust his arms, catching at the neck he sees, into the middle of the
water, and yet he does not catch himself in them. He knows not what he
sees, but what he sees, by it is he inflamed; and the same mistake that
deceives his eyes, provokes them. Why, credulous {youth}, dost thou
vainly catch at the flying image? What thou art seeking is nowhere; what
thou art in love with, turn but away {and} thou shalt lose it; what thou
seest, the same is {but} the shadow of a reflected form; it has nothing
of its own. It comes and stays with thee; with thee it will depart, if
thou canst {but} depart thence.

No regard for food,[76] no regard for repose, can draw him away thence;
but, lying along upon the overshadowed grass, he gazes upon the
fallacious image with unsatiated eyes, and by his own sight he himself
is undone. Raising himself a little {while}, extending his arms to the
woods that stand around him, he says, "Was ever, O, ye woods! any one
more fatally in love? For {this} ye know, and have been a convenient
shelter for many a one. And do you remember any one, who {ever} thus
pined away, during so long a time, though so many ages of your life has
been spent? It both pleases me and I see it; but what I see, and what
pleases me, yet I cannot obtain; so great a mistake possesses one in
love; and to make me grieve the more, neither a vast sea separates us,
nor a {long} way, nor mountains, nor a city with its gates closed; we
are kept asunder by a little water. He himself wishes to be embraced;
for as often as I extend my lips to the limpid stream, so often does he
struggle towards me with his face held up; you would think he might be
touched. It is a very little that stands in the way of lovers. Whoever
thou art, come up hither. Why, {dear} boy, the choice one, dost thou
deceive me? or whither dost thou retire, when pursued? Surely, neither
my form nor my age is such as thou shouldst shun; the Nymphs, too, have
courted me. Thou encouragest I know not what hopes in me with that
friendly look, and when I extend my arms to thee, thou willing