The huntress, Diana, in the depths of the wood,
After dealing out blows to many a beast,
Was taking a breather, with her crowned Nymphs at rest.
Where often I’d rested like a fairy to brood
Without thought, when I heard a voice as thin as a sliver
Ask me a question. It said: ‘Oh Nymph in a dream,
Why have you not come back to Diana, your Queen? ‘
And seeing me there without a bow or a quiver
It added; ‘Oh friend of mine, why are you found
With your bow and your arrows no longer around? ‘
I replied to this stranger in more anger than sorrows:
‘I have searched in vain but can find no traces
Somebody took them, my bow and arrows
And shot them off in hundreds of places.