Sicelides Musae, paulo maiora canamus.

Non omnis arbusta iuvant humilesque myricae;

si canimus silvas, silvae sint consule dignae.

Ultima Cumaei venit iam carminis aetas;

magnus ab integro saeclorum nascitur ordo.

Iam redit et Virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna;

iam nova progenies caelo demittitur alto.

Tu modo nascenti puero, quo ferrea primum

desinet ac toto surget gens aurea mundo,

casta fave Lucina: tuus iam regnat Apollo.

Sicilian Muses, let us take a loftier tone.

Orchards and humble tamarisks don't give delight to all,

and if we sing of woods, they should be worthy of a consul.

Now comes the last age of the Cumaean song;

the great order of the ages arises anew.

Now the Virgin returns, and Saturn's reign returns;

now a new generation is sent down from high heaven.

Only, chaste Lucina, favour the child at his birth,

by whom, first of all, the iron age will end

and a golden race arise in all the world;

now your Apollo reigns.

…

Hinc, ubi iam firmata virum te fecerit aetas,

cedet et ipse mari vector, nec nautica pinus

mutabit merces: omnis feret omnia tellus.

Non rastros patietur humus, non vinea falcem;

robustus quoque iam tauris iuga solvet arator.

Nec varios discet mentiri lana colores:

ipse sed in pratis aries iam suave rubenti

murice, iam croceo mutabit vellera luto;

sponte sua sandyx pascentis vestiet agnos.

After this, when the hard age has made you a man,

the merchant himself will withdraw from the sea,

and the maritime pine ships will not trade goods;

every land will produce everything.

Earth will not endure the hoe, nor the vine the sickle;

strong ploughmen too will unbind their yoked bulls.

Wool will not learn to feign various colours:

in the meadows, by himself, the ram will change his fleece –

now to sweet reddening purple, now to saffron yellow;

and vermilion, of its own accord, will clothe the grazing lambs.