Ad Pyrrham, Translated by John Milton, 1673:

What slender Youth bedew’d with liquid odours
Courts thee on Roses in some pleasant Cave,
Pyrrha for whom bind’st thou
In wreaths thy golden Hair,

Plain in thy neatness; O how oft shall he
On Faith and changed Gods complain: and
Seas Rough with black winds and storms
Unwonted shall admire:

Who now enjoyes thee credulous, all Gold,
Who alwayes vacant, alwayes amiable
Hopes thee; of flattering gales
Unmindfull. Hapless they

To whom thou untry’d seem’st fair. Me in my vow’d
Picture the sacred wall declares t’ have hung
My dank and dropping weeds
To the stern God of Sea.

Dorothy Sayers to Sir Ronald Storrs (Letter of 28 Oct 1955):

True it is that Milton’s version is, by now, almost as difficult for us as the original — though his contemporaries must have found it easier. “Neatness,” “admire,” “vacant,” “amiable” have all changed their meaning; and the construction of “always vacant, always amiable hopes thee” eludes us. All the same, what he has, and the rest have not, is the indefinable thing called magic. The placing of the name “Pyrrha” — “rough with black winds and storms” — “who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold” — “my dank and dropping weeds” — those things stick in the memory when phrases like “his wretched fate deplore,” “harbour of tranquility” have slid into oblivion — to say nothing of Simon’s quite frightful “winsome mien”! (What word has escaped the barrier of thy teeth?). Well, the only encouragement one can give one’s self in translating is to gaze upon the really appalling outrages that others have perpetrated, and to swear that, whatever happens, one will avoid that particular crime!

Ad Pyrrham, Translated by John Allsebrook Simon, Viscount Simon, 1959:

Pyrrha, who was that handsome youth
With roses in his perfumed hair,
Who in the grotto pledged his truth
And claimed you as his only fair?

You caught him with your golden curls —
No other gauds were needed then.
He thought you were the best of girls,
He’s now the most deceived of men.

You were so equable and kind
He never dreamed that storms could rise,
Provoked by fickle change of wind
To blacken all the summer skies.

Unhappy those who have been caught
By thy glad eye and winsome mien,
Experience is so dearly bought
And girls are not all what they seem.

I too was near engulfed; my vest
Hangs sodden in the sea god’s shrine
As votive offering to attest
How lucky this escape of mine.

For many, many additional translations: Collections of Translations.