University of Virginia Library


165

THE GEORGICS OF VIRGIL.


167

TO C. CILNIUS MAECENAS.

BOOK I.

What culture crowns the laughing fields with corn,
Beneath what heavenly signs the glebe to turn,
Round the tall elm how circling vines to lead,
The care of oxen, cattle how to breed,
What wondrous arts to frugal bees belong,
Maecenas, are the subjects of my song.
Lights of the world! ye brightest orbs on high,
Who lead the sliding year around the sky!

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Bacchus and Ceres, by whose gifts divine,
Man chang'd the crystal stream for purple wine;
For rich and foodful corn, Chaonian mast:
Ye Fauns and virgin Dryads, hither haste;
Ye deities, who aid industrious swains,
Your gifts I sing! facilitate the strains!
And thou, whose trident struck the teeming earth,
Whence strait a neighing courser sprung to birth.
Come thou, whose herd, in Caea's fertil meads,
Of twice an hundred snow-white heifers, feeds:
Guardian of flocks, O leave Lycaeus' grove,
If Maenalus may still retain thy love,
Tegaean Pan; and bring with thee the maid
Who first at Athens rais'd the olive's shade,
Propitious Pallas; nor be absent thou,
Fair youth, inventor of the crooked plough;
Nor thou, Sylvanus, in whose hands is borne
A tender cypress by the roots up-torn:
Come, all ye gods and goddesses, who hear
The suppliant swains, and bless with fruits the year;
Ye, who the wild spontaneous seeds sustain,
Or swell with showers the cultivated grain.
And thou, thou chief, whose seat among the gods,
Is yet unchosen in the blest abodes,
Wilt thou, great Caesar, o'er the earth preside,
Protect her cities, and her empires guide,

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While the vast globe shall feel thy genial pow'r,
Thee as the god of foodful fruits adore,
Sovereign of seasons, of the storms and wind,
And with thy mother's boughs thy temples bind?
Or over boundless ocean wilt thou reign,
Smooth the wild billows of the roaring main,
While utmost Thule shall thy nod obey,
To thee in shipwrecks shivering sailors pray,
While Tethys, if some wat'ry nymph could please,
Would give in dow'ry all her thousand seas?
Or wilt thou mount a splendid sign on high,
Betwixt the Maid and Scorpius deck the sky;
Scorpius ev'n now his burning claws confines,
And more than a just share of heav'n resigns?
Whate'er thou chuse; (for sure thou wilt not deign,
With dire ambition fir'd, in hell to reign,
Tho' Greece her fair Elysian fields admire,
Whence Proserpine refuses to retire)
Look kindly down, my invocations hear!
Assist my course, and urge my bold carreer;

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Pity with me, the simple ploughman's cares,
Now, now assume the god, and learn to hear our pray'rs.
In earliest spring, when melting snow distils
Adown the mountains' sides, in trickling rills,
When Zephyr's breeze unbinds the crumbling soil,
Then let my groaning steers begin the toil;
Deep in the furrows press the shining share;
Those lands at last repay the peasants' care,
Which twice the sun, and twice the frosts sustain,
And burst his barns surcharg'd with pond'rous grain.
But ere we launch the plough in plains unknown,
Be first the clime, the winds and weather shewn;
The culture and the genius of the fields,
What each refuses, what in plenty yields;
Here golden corn, there luscious grapes abound,
There grass spontaneous, or rich fruits are found;
See'st thou not Tmolus, saffron sweet dispense?
Her ivory, Ind? Arabia, frankincense?
The naked Chalybes their iron ore?
To Castor Pontus give its fetid pow'r?
While for Olympic games, Epirus breeds,
To whirl the kindling car, the swiftest steeds?
Nature, these laws, and these eternal bands,
First fix'd on certain climes, and various lands,
What time the stones, upon th'unpeopled world,
Whence sprung laborious man, Deucalion hurl'd.

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Come on then: yoke, and sweat thy sturdy steer,
In deep, rich soils, when dawns the vernal year;
The turf disclos'd, the clinging clods unbound,
Summer shall bake and meliorate thy ground;
But for light, steril land, it may suffice,
Gently to turn it in autumnal skies;
There, lest the weeds o'er joyful ears prevail,
Here, lest all moisture from the sands exhale.
The glebe shall rest, whence last you gather'd grain,
Till the spent earth recover strength again;
For where the trembling pods of pulse you took,
Or from its rattling stalk the lupin shook,
Or vetches' seed minute, will golden corn
With alter'd grain that happy tilth adorn.
Parcht are the lands, that oats or flax produce,
Or poppies, pregnant with Lethean juice;
Nor want uncultur'd fallow's grace or use.
But blush not fattening dung to cast around,
Or sordid ashes o'er th'exhausted ground.
Thus rest, or change of grain, improves the field,
And riches shall arise from lands untill'd.
Gainful to burn the barren glebe 'tis found,
While the light stubble, crackling, flames around:

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Whence, or to earth new stores of strength are lent,
And large supplies of richer nutriment;
Or oozing off, and purify'd by fire,
The latent, noxious particles transpire;
Or thro' the pores relax'd, the tender blade
Fresh fructifying juices feels convey'd;
Or genial heat the hollow glebe constrains,
Braces each nerve, and binds the gaping veins;
Lest slender showers, or the fierce beams of day,
Or Boreas' baleful cold should scorch the crops away.
Much too he helps his labour'd lands, who breaks
The crumbling clods, with harrows, drags, and rakes;
Who ploughs across, and back, with ceaseless toil,
Subdues to dust, and triumphs o'er the soil;
Plenty to him, industrious swain! is giv'n,
And Ceres smiles upon his works from heav'n.
Ye husbandmen! of righteous heav'n intreat
A winter calm and dry; a solstice wet;

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For winter-dust delights the pregnant plain,
The happiest covering for the bury'd grain;
Hence matchless harvests Mysia boasting reaps,
And Gargarus admires his unexpected heaps.
Why should I tell of him, who, on his land
Fresh-sown, destroys each ridge of barren sand;
Then instant, o'er the levell'd furrows brings
Refreshful waters from the cooling springs;
Behold, when burning suns, or Syrius' beams
Strike fiercely on the fields, and withering stems;
Down from the summit of the neighb'ring hills,
O'er the smooth stones he calls the bubbling rills;
Soon as he clears, whate'er their passage stay'd,
And marks their future current with his spade,
Before him scattering they prevent his pains,
Burst all abroad, and drench the thirsty plains.
Or who, lest the weak stalks be over-weigh'd,
Feeds down, betimes, the rank luxuriant blade,
When first it rises to the furrows' head.
Or why of him who drains the marshy lands,
Collects the moisture from th'absorbing sands,
When bursting from his banks, th'indignant flood
The country covers wide, with slimy mud,
In doubtful months, when swelling dykes resound
With torrents loud, and sweat and boil around.
Yet after all these toils of swains and steers,
Still rising ills impend, and countless cares;
The glutton goose, the Thracian cranes annoy,
Succory and noxious shade the crops destroy.

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Th'eternal sire, immutably decreed,
That tillage should with toil alone succeed,
With cares he rous'd, and sharpen'd human hearts,
Bright'ning the rust of indolence by arts.
Ere Jove had reign'd, no swains subdu'd the ground,
Unknown was property, unjust the mound;
At will they rov'd; and earth spontaneous bore,
Unask'd, and uncompell'd, a bounteous store;
He, to fell serpents deathful venom gave,
Bade wolves destroy, and stormy ocean rave;
Conceal'd the fire, from leaves their honey shook;
And stop'd of purple wine each flowing brook;
That studious want might useful arts contrive;
From planted furrows foodful corn derive;
And strike from veins of flints the secret spark:
Then first the rivers felt the hollow'd bark,
Sailors first nam'd and counted every star,
The Pleiads, Hyads, and the northern car.
Now snares for beasts and birds fell hunters place,
And wide surround with dogs the echoing chace;
One, for the finny prey broad rivers beats,
One, from the sea drags slow his loaded nets.
Erst did the woods the force of wedges feel,
Now saws were tooth'd, and temper'd was the steel;
Then all those arts that polish life succeed;
What cannot ceaseless toil, and pressing need!
Great Ceres first the plough to mortals brought,
To yoke the steer, to turn the furrow taught;

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What time, nor mast, nor fruits, the groves supply'd,
And fam'd Dodona sustenance deny'd:
Tillage grew toilsome, and the harvests dy'd.
Caltrops, wild oats, darnel, and burrs assail,
Hide the fair tilth, and o'er the crops prevail.
Unless with harrows' unremitted toil,
Thou break, subdue, and pulverize the soil,
Fright pecking birds, lop overshadowing bowers,
And beg of smiling heav'n refreshful showers,
Alas! thy neighbour's stores with envy view'd,
Thoul't shake from forest-oaks thy tasteless food.
Next must we tell, what arms stout peasants wield,
Without whose aid, no crops could crown the field:
The sharpen'd share, and heavy-timber'd plough,
And Ceres' pond'rous waggon, rolling slow;
And Celeus' harrows, hurdles, sleds to trail
O'er the press'd grain, and Bacchus' flying sail.

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These long before provide, ye, who incline
To merit praise by husbandry divine!
When bent betimes, and tam'd the stubborn bough,
Tough elm receives the figure of the plough;
Eight foot the beam, a cumbrous length appears;
The earth-boards double; double are the ears;
Light to the yoke the linden feels the wound,
And the tall beech lies stretcht along the ground;
They fall for staves that guide the plough-share's course,
And heat and hardening smoke confirm their force.
More ancient precepts could I sing, but fear
Such homely rules may grate thy nicer ear.
To press the chalky floor more closely down,
Roll o'er its surface a cylindric stone;
Else thro' the loosen'd dust, and chinky ground,
The grass springs forth, and vermin will abound.
Oft working low in earth the tiny mouse
Her garners makes, and builds her secret house;
Their nest and chambers scoop, the eyeless moles,
And swelling toads that haunt the darksome holes;
The weasel heaps consumes, or prudent ant
Provides her copious stores, 'gainst age or want.
Mark likewise when in groves the almond blows,
And bends with luxury of flow'rs his boughs;

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If fruit abound, the corn alike will thrive,
And toil immense to sweating threshers give;
But if with full exuberance of shade,
The clustering leaves a barren foliage spread,
Then will the chaffy stalks, so lean and poor,
In vain be trampled on the hungry floor.
Some prudent sowers have I seen indeed
Steep with preventive care the manag'd seed,
In nitre, and black lees of oil; to make
The swelling pods a larger body take:
But the well-disciplin'd, and chosen grains,
Tho' quicken'd o'er slow fires with skilful pains,
Starve and degenerate in the fattest plains;
Unless with annual industry and art,
They cull'd each largest out, and plac'd apart:
For such the changeful lot of things below,
Still to decay they rush, and ever backwards flow.
As one, who 'gainst a stream's impetuous course,
Scarce pulls his slow boat, urg'd with all his force,
If once his vigour cease, or arms grow slack,
Instant, with headlong haste, the torrent whirls him back.
We too as much must mark Arcturus' signs,
When rise the Kids, when the bright Dragon shines,

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As home-bound mariners, in tempests tost,
Near Pontus, or Abydos' oyster'd coast.
When Libra measures out the day and night,
Equal proportions both of shade and light;
Work, work your bullocks, barley sow, ye swains,
'Till winter's first impracticable rains.
Now in their beds, your poppies hide and flax;
With frequent harrowings smooth the furrows' backs,
Now while ye may, while the dark welkin low'rs,
O'er the dry glebe while clouds suspend their show'rs.
Sow beans in spring: in spring, the crumbling soil
Receives thee, lucern! Media's flowery spoil;
But still to millet give we annual care,
When the Bull opes with golden horns the year,
And the Dog sets, to shun his backward-rising star.
But if for wheat alone, for stronger grain,
And bearded corn, thou exercise the plain,
First let the morning Pleiades go down,
From the sun's rays emerge the Gnossian crown,
Ere to th'unwilling earth thou trust the seed,
And marr thy future hopes with ill-judg'd speed.

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Some have begun, ere Maia sunk, but them
Their full-ear'd hope mock'd with a flattering stem.
If the mean vetch, or tare, thou deign to sow,
Nor scorn to bid Aegyptian lentils grow,
Signs, not obscure, Boötes, setting yields,
Begin, and sow, thro' half the frosts, thy fields.
For this the golden sun, in his career,
Rules thro' the world's twelve signs the quarter'd year;
Five zones infold heav'n's radiant concave: one,
Plac'd full beneath the burnings of the sun,
For ever feels his unremitted rays,
And gasps for ever in the scorching blaze;
On each side which, two more their circles mark,
Clog'd with thick ice, with gloomy tempests dark;
Betwixt the first and these, indulgent heav'n
Two milder zones to feeble man hath giv'n,
Across them both a path oblique inclines,
Where in refulgent order roll the signs.
Bleak Scythia's snows, Riphaea's tow'ring clifts,
High as this elevated globe uplifts,
So low to southern Lybia it descends,
And with an equal inclination bends.
One pole for ever o'er our heads is roll'd,
One, darksome Styx and hell's pale ghosts behold

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Beneath their feet: here, the vast Dragon twines
Between the Bears, and like a river winds;
The Bears that still with fearful caution keep,
Unting'd beneath the surface of the deep.
There, in dead silence, still night loves to rest,
Night without end, with thickest gloom opprest;
Or from our hemisphere, the morning ray
Returns alternate, and restores the day;
And when to us the orient car succeeds,
And o'er our climes has breath'd its panting steeds,
There ruddy Vesper, kindling up the sky,
Casts o'er the glowing realms his evening eye.
Hence, changeful heav'n's rough storms we may foreknow,
The days to reap, the happiest times to sow;
When with safe oars it may be fit to sweep
The glassy surface of the faithless deep;
When to the waves the well-arm'd fleet resign,
And when in forests fell the timely pine.
Nor vain to mark the varying signs our care,
Nor the four seasons of th'adjusted year;
Whene'er the hind a sleety show'r detains,
Full many a work that soon must cost him pains
To hurry forward, when the sky is fair,
He may with prudent foresight now prepare;
Now to a point the blunted share may beat;
Scoop troughs from trees, mark flocks, or sacks of wheat;

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Long spars and forks may sharpen; or supply
Amerian twigs the creeping vine to tie;
With Rubean rods now baskets may be wove,
Now grain be ground with stones, now patch'd upon the stove.
Nor do the laws of man, or gods above,
On sacred days some labours disapprove;
No solemn rite should e'er forbid the swain,
The mead with sudden streams o'erflow'd, to drain:
To raise strong fences for the springing corn,
To lay the snare for birds, to burn the thorn;
Nor to forbear to wash the bleating flock,
And soundly plunge them in the healthy brook.
Oft' the slow ass's sides the driver loads,
With oil, or apples, or domestic goods,
And for the mill brings an indented stone,
Or with black lumps of pitch returns from town.
For various works behold the moon declare
Some days more fortunate—the fifth beware!
Pale Orcus and the Furies then sprung forth,
Iapetus and Coeus, heaving earth
Produc'd, a foul abominable birth!
And fierce Typhoeus, Jove who dar'd defy,
Leagu'd in conjunction dire to storm the sky!
Ossa on Pelion, thrice t'uplift they strove,
And high o'er nodding Ossa roll above

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Olympus shagg'd with woods; th'almighty sire
Thrice dash'd the mountains down with forky fire.
Next to the tenth, the seventh to luck inclines,
For taming oxen, and for planting vines;
Then best her woof the prudent housewife weaves;
Better for flight the ninth, adverse to thieves.
Ev'n in cold night some proper tasks pursue,
Or when gay morn impearls the field with dew;
At night dry stubble, and parcht meadows mow,
At night, fat moisture never fails to flow;
One, by the glowing ember's livid light,
Watches and works the livelong winter's night,
Forms spiky torches with his sharpen'd knife;
Mean while with equal industry his wife,
Beguiling time sings in the glimmering room,
To chear the labours of the rattling loom,
Or on the luscious must while bubbles rise,
With leaves the trembling cauldron purifies.
But cut the golden corn in mid-day's heat,
And the parcht grain at noon's high ardor beat.
Plough naked; naked sow; the busy hind
No rest but in bleak wintry hours can find;
In that drear season, swains their stores enjoy,
Mirth all their thought, and feasting their employ;
The genial time to mutual joys excites,
And drowns their cares in innocent delights.
As when a freighted ship has touch'd the port,
The jovial crews upon their decks resort,
With fragrant garlands all their sterns are crown'd,
And jocund strains from ship to ship resound.

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Yet then from leafless oaks their acorns strip,
From bays and myrtles bloody berries slip,
For noxious cranes then plant the guileful snare,
O'er tainted ground pursue the listening hare;
Pitch toyls for stags, and whirling round the string,
Smite the fat doe with Balearic sling,
While on the ground the snow deep-crusted lies,
And the clog'd floods push down thick flakes of ice.
Why should I sing autumnal stars and skies;
What storms in that uncertain season rise?
How careful swains should watch in shorter days,
When soften'd summer feels abated rays:
Or what, in showery spring, the farmer fears,
When swell with milky corn the bristling ears.
When hinds began to reap, and bind the field,
All the wild war of winds have I beheld
Rise with united rage at once, and tear
And whirl th'uprooted harvest into air,
With the same force, as by a driving blast
Light chaff or stubble o'er the plains are cast.
Oft in one deluge of impetuous rain,
All heav'n's dark concave rushes down amain,
And sweeps away the crops and labours of the swain.
The swelling rivers drown the oxen's toil,
The tossing seas in furious eddies boil;
Great Jove himself, whom dreadful darkness shrouds,
Pavilion'd in the thickness of the clouds,

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With light'ning arm'd his red right hand puts forth,
And shakes with burning bolts the solid earth:
The nations shrink appall'd; the beasts are fled;
All human hearts are sunk, and pierc'd with dread:
He strikes vast Rhodope's exalted crown,
And hurls huge Athos, and Ceraunia down.
Thick fall the rains; the wind redoubled roars;
The god now smites the woods, and now the sounding shores.
Warn'd by these ills, observe the starry signs,
Whither cold Saturn's joyless orb inclines,
Whither light Hermes' wandering flame is driv'n;—
First to the gods be all due honours giv'n;
To Ceres chief her annual rites be paid,
On the green turf, beneath a fragrant shade,
When winter ends, and spring serenely shines,
Then fat the lambs, then mellow are the wines,
Then sweet are slumbers on the flowery ground,
Then with thick shades are lofty mountains crown'd.
Let all thy hinds bend low at Ceres' shrine;
Mix honey sweet, for her, with milk and mellow wine;

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Thrice lead the victim the new fruits around,
And Ceres call, and choral hymns resound:
Presume not, swains, the ripen'd grain to reap,
Till crown'd with oak in antic dance ye leap,
Invoking Ceres, and in solemn lays,
Exalt your rural queen's immortal praise.
Great Jove himself unerring signs ordains,
Of chilling winds, and heats, and driving rains;
The moon declares when blustring Auster falls,
When herds should be confin'd near shelt'ring stalls;
When winds approach, the vex'd sea heaves around,
From the bleak mountain comes a hollow sound,
The loud blast whistles o'er the echoing shore,
Rustle the murm'ring woods, the rising billows roar.
From the frail bark that ploughs the raging main,
The greedy waves unwillingly refrain,
When loud the corm'rant screams and seeks the land,
And coots and sea-gulls sport upon the sand;
And the tall hern his marshy haunts forsakes,
And tow'rs to heav'n above the 'custom'd lakes:
Oft, stars fall headlong thro' the shades of night,
And leave behind white tracks of trembling light,
In circles play light chaff and wither'd leaves,
And floating feathers dance upon the waves.
But when keen lightnings flash from Boreas' pole,
From Eurus' house to west, when pealing thunders roll,

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The country swims, all delug'd are the dales,
And every pilot furls his humid sails.
Sure warnings still the stormy showers precede;
The conscious cranes forsake the vapoury mead,
The heifer tossing high her head in air,
With broader nostrils snuffs the gale afar;
Light skims the chirping swallow o'er the flood,
The frogs croak hoarsely on their beds of mud;
Her eggs abroad the prudent pismire bears,
While at her work a narrow road she wears.
Deep drinks the bow; on rustling pinions loud,
The crows, a numerous host! from pasture homeward crowd.
Lo! various sea-fowl, and each bird that breeds
In Asian lakes, near sweet Caÿster's meads,
O'er their smooth shoulders strive the stream to fling,
And wash in wanton sport each snowy wing;
Now dive, now run upon the wat'ry plain,
And long to lave their downy plumes in vain:
Loudly the rains the boding rook demands,
And solitary stalks across the scorching sands.
Nor less the virgins' nightly tasks that weave
With busy hands, approaching storms perceive,
While on the lamp they mark the sputtering oil,
And fungous clots the light, adhesive soil.

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Nor less by certain marks may'st thou descry
Fair seasons, in the calm, and stormless sky;
Then shine the stars with keener lustre bright,
Nor Cynthia borrows from her brother's light.
No fleecy clouds flit lightly through the air,
The mists descend, and low on earth appear.
Nor Thetis' halcyons basking on the strand,
Their plumage to the tepid sun expand:
Nor swine deep delving with the sordid snout,
Delight to toss the bundled straw about.
To watch the setting sun, the sullen owl
Sits pensive, and in vain repeats her baleful howl;
Nisus appears sublime in liquid air,
And Scylla rues the ravish'd purple hair:
Where with swift wings she cuts th'etherial way,
Fierce Nisus presses on his panting prey,
Where Nisus wheels, she swiftly darts away.
With throats compress'd, with shrill and clearer voice,
The tempest gone, the cawing rooks rejoice;
Seek with unusual joys, on branches hung
Their much-lov'd nests, and feed their callow young.
Not that to them a genius heav'n hath lent,
Or piercing foresight of each dark event,
But when the changeful temper of the skies,
The rare condenses, the dense rarifies,

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New motions on the alter'd air imprest,
New images and passions fill their breast:
Hence the glad birds in louder concert join,
Hence croaks th'exulting rook, and sport the kine.
But if thou shalt observe the rapid sun,
And mark the moons their following courses run,
No night serene with smiles, shall e'er betray,
And safely may'st thou trust the coming day:
When the young moon returning light collects,
If 'twixt her horns we spy thick gloomy specks,
Prepare ye mariners and watchful swains
For wasteful storms and deluges of rains!
But if a virgin-blush her cheeks o'erspread,
Lo, winds! they tinge her golden face with red;
But the fourth evening if she clearly rise,
And sail unclouded thro' the azure skies,
That day, and all the following month behind,
No rattling storm shall feel of rain or wind:
And sailors sav'd from the devouring sea,
To Glaucus vows prefer and Panope.
Nor less the sun, when eastern hills he leaves
And when he sinks behind the blushing waves,
Prognostics gives: he brings the safest signs
At morn, and when the starry evening shines:
When with dark spots his opening face he clouds,
Shorn of his beams, and half his glory shrouds,
Suspect ye showers: the south from ocean borne,
Springs noxious to the cattle, trees and corn.

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When scatter'd are his rays; with paleness spread
When faint Aurora leaves Tithonus' bed;
Ill can thin leaves their ripening grapes defend!
Such heaps of horrid hail on rattling roofs decend!
Observe too, when he ends his heavenly race,
What various colours wander o'er his face:
The dusky, rain; the fiery, wind denotes;
But if with glowing red he mingle spots,
Then showers and winds commixt shalt thou behold
In dreadful tempest thro' black aether roll'd;
In such a night, when soon the waves will roar,
None should persuade to loose my bark from shore.
But if his orb be lucid, clear his ray,
When forth he ushers, or concludes the day,
Fear not the storms: for mild will be the breeze,
And Aquilo but gently wave the trees.
In fine, what winds may rise at evening late,
What showers may humid Auster meditate,
By surest marks th'unerring sun declares,
And who, to call the sun deceitful, dares?
He too foretells sedition's secret schemes,
Tumults and treasons, wars and stratagems.

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He too, bewailing her unhappy doom,
When fell her glorious Caesar, pitied Rome;
With dusky redness veil'd his chearful light,
And impious mortals fear'd eternal night:
Then too, the trembling earth, and seas that rag'd,
And dogs, and boding birds dire ills presag'd:
What globes of flame hath thund'ring Aetna thrown,
What heaps of sulphur mix'd with molten stone,
From her burst entrails did she oft exspire,
And deluge the Cyclopean fields with fire!
A clank of arms and rushing to the wars,
The sound of trampling steeds, and clattering cars,
Heard thro' th'astonish'd sky, Germania shock'd,
The solid Alps unusual tremblings rock'd!
Thro' silent woods a dismal voice was heard,
And glaring ghosts all grimly pale appear'd,
At dusky eve; dumb cattle silence broke,
And with the voice of man (portentous!) spoke!
Earth gapes aghast; the wondering rivers stop;
The brazen statues mourn, and sweats from ivory drop;
Monarch of mighty floods, supremely strong,
Eridanus, whole forests whirl'd along,
And rolling onwards with a sweepy sway,
Bore houses, herds, and helpless hinds away:
The victims' entrails dire events forebode!
Wolves howl in cities! wells o'erflow with blood.
Ne'er with such rage did livid lightnings glare,
Nor comets trail such lengths of horrid hair!

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For this, Philippi saw, with civil rage,
The wretched Roman legions twice engage;
Emathia, (heaven decreed!) was twice imbru'd,
And Haemus' fields twice fatten'd with our blood.
The time at length shall come, when lab'ring swains,
As with their ploughs they turn these guilty plains,
'Gainst hollow helms their heavy drags shall strike,
And clash 'gainst many a sword, and rusty pike;
View the vast graves with horror and amaze,
And at huge bones of giant heroes gaze.
Ye greater guardian gods of Rome, our pray'r,
And Romulus, and thou, chaste Vesta, hear!
Ye, who preserve with your propitious powers,
Etrurian Tiber, and the Roman towers!

217

At least permit this youth to save the world
(Our only refuge!) in confusion hurl'd:
Let streams of blood already spilt attone
For perjuries of false Laomedon!
The gods, great Caesar, envy and complain,
That men and earthly cares thy steps detain;
Where sacred order, fraud and force confound,
Where impious wars and tumults rage around,
And every various vice and crime is crown'd:
Dishonour'd lies the plough; the banish'd swains
Are hurried from th'uncultivated plains;
The sickles into barbarous swords are beat,
Euphrates here, and there the Germans threat.
The cities break of mutual faith the bands,
And ruthless Mars raves wild o'er all the lands.
As when four furious coursers whirl away
The trembling driver, nor his cries obey,
With headlong haste swift-pouring o'er the plains,
The chariot bounds along, nor hears the reins.
The End of the First Georgic.
 

Ver. 1. Fields.] The subjects of the four following books of Georgics are particularly specified in these first four lines, Corn and Ploughing are the subject of the first, Vines of the second, Cattle of the third, and Bees of the last. By seges Virgil generally means the field. Quo sidere is very poetical for quo tempore. Mr. Dryden says only when to turn, &c. I apply experientia to the bees after Grimoaldus and Dr. Trapp, as more poetical than the other meaning, and as suitable to Virgil's manner of ascribing human qualities to these insects. I wonder, says Mr. Holdsworth, whence Seneca came to speak so lightly of Virgil's exactness in his Georgics: but this I am sure of, that the more I have look'd into the manner of agriculture used at present in Italy, the more occasion I have had to admire the justice and force of his expressions, and his exactness even in the minutest particulars. Holdsworth.

7. Lights of the world.] Clarissima mundi lumina cannot be put in apposition or joined with Bacchus et alma Ceres; Virgil first invokes the sun and moon, and then Bacchus.— Varro's invocation proceeds in the same manner.

11. Chaonian mast.] The famous grove of Dodona was in Epirus or Chaonia;

Dodonean acorns ------

18. Snow white heifers feeds.] Aristaeus is here invoked, who taught the arts of curdling milk and cultivating olive trees. Triptolemus the son of Celeus was the inventor of the plough. In a contention between Neptune and Minerva about naming Athens, Neptune struck the earth with his trident, and produced a horse, and Pallas an olive tree.

19. Lycaeus' grove.] Lycaeus and Maenalus were two mountains in Arcadia, sacred to Pan.

25. Sylvanus.] Medals represent Sylvanus bearing a young cypress tree torn up by the roots. Neither Mr. Dryden nor Mr. Benson seem apprehensive of this allusion, which is very picturesque.

31. And thou.] The poet here begins a fine address to Augustus, asking him whether he would chuse to be the god of earth, sea, or heaven. Catrou ingeniously imagines this address was added by Virgil the year before his death, when several other passages were likewise inserted; for he says Augustus was not thus highly honoured till after his return from the conquest of Egypt.

46. Scorpius.] Libra, or the Balance, was originally represented as held up by Scorpius, who extended his claws for that purpose out of his own proper dominions; and that, under Augustus, or a little after his death, they made Scorpius contract his claws, and introduced a new personage (most probably Augustus himself) to hold the Balance. On the Farnese globe it is held by Scorpius; (which by the way, may perhaps shew that work to have been previous to the Augustan age:) in several of the gems and medals on which we have the signs of the zodiac, it is held by a man. This is said to be Augustus. It was a very common thing among the Roman poets to compliment their emperors with a place among the constellations; and perhaps the Roman astronomers took the hint of placing Augustus there, and that in this very situation, from Virgil's compliment of this kind to the emperor. To say the truth, there could scarce have been a place or employment, better chosen for Augustus. The astronomers originally were at a loss how to have the Balance supported: they were obliged, for this purpose, to make Scorpius take up the space of two signs in the zodiac; which was quite irregular: and to be sure they would be ready to lay hold of any fair occasion of reducing to his due bounds again. On the other hand, it was quite as proper for Augustus, as it was improper for Scorpius, to hold it: for beside its being a compliment to him for his justice, or for his holding the balance of the affairs of the world, (if they talked of princes then, in the style we have been so much used to of late) Libra was the very sign that was said to preside over Italy; and so Augustus in holding that, would be supposed to be the guardian angel of his country after his decease, as he had been so formally declared to be the father and protector of it in his life-time. Upon the whole, I do not see how any thought of this kind could have been carried on with more propriety, than this seems to have been, by the admirers or flatterers of that emperor. Polymetis, Dialogue 11. Page 170.

57. In earliest spring.] The writers of agriculture, says Dr. Martyn, did not confine themselves to the computation of astrologers; but dated their spring from the end of the frosty weather. Possunt igitur ac idibus Januariis, ut principem mensem Romani anni observet, auspicari culturarum officia. Columella.

63. Which twice the sun, and twice.] The meaning is, that a field which has lain still two years together, instead of one (which last is the common method) will bear a much greater crop. Benson.

74. Castor.] 'Tis a vulgar mistake that the testicles of the beaver contain the castor; for 'tis taken from some odoriferous glands about the groin of this animal. Virosa in this place does not mean poisonous, but efficacious or powerful: So likewise Eclogue 8. Martyn.

87. There, lest the weeds.] Virgil speaks of the seasons of ploughing strong and light ground. The first, says he, must be ploughed early in the spring, and lie all summer; and the other lightly in autumn: or else the strong ground will run all to weeds, and the light ground will have all its juices exhausted. Benson.

92. The lupin shook.] The tristis lupinus is not our lupin, but that seed which they now in Italy lay asoak so long in water, to get rid of its bitterness, and even sell it so in their streets. 'Tis but a very insipid thing at best. The faselus of the Romans is our lupin. Holdsworth.

95. Parcht are the lands.] That flax, oats, and poppies, dry and impoverish the soil, we have the concurrent testimony of Columella, Paladius, and Pliny. The Romans cultivated poppies, not our common scarlet ones, but our garden poppy. See Martyn.

102. To burn the barren glebe.] Virgil, says Mr. Benson (but he seems to be mistaken) speaks of two different things, of burning the soil itself before the ground is ploughed, and of burning the stubble after the corn is taken off from arable land. The rapidity of saepe levem stipulam crepitantibus urere flammis, expresses the crackling and swiftness of the flame.

103. While the light stubble.] They still use the method so much recommended by Virgil (Geo. I. 84 to 93) of burning the stubble, especially in the more barren fields, in most parts of Italy; and about Rome in particular, where there is so much bad ground. The smoke is very troublesome when they do it; and there had been so many complaints made of it to Clement XI, that he had resolved to forbid that practice. When the order was laid before that pope, to be signed by him; a cardinal (who happened to be with his holiness) spoke much of the use of it; shewed him this passage in Virgil; and the pope on reading it, changed his mind, and rejected the order. Holdsworth.

113. Cold should scorch.] Burning applied to cold is not merely a poetical expression; but we find it made use of by the philosophers. Aristotle says, that cold is accidentally an active body, and is sometimes said to burn and warm, not in the same manner as heat, but because it condenses or constrains the heat by surrounding it. Martyn.

116. Who ploughs across.] What the poet speaks of here (says Mr. Benson) retains the Roman name to this day in many parts of England, and is called, sowing upon the back; that is, sowing stiff ground after once ploughing. Now, says Virgil, he that draws a harrow or hurdle over his ground before he sows it, multum juvat arva, for this fills up the chinks; which otherwise would bury the corn; but then, says he, Ceres always looks kindly on him, who ploughs his ground across again. Benson.

119. And Ceres.] Virgil in his Georgics gives us an idea of Ceres as regarding the laborious husbandman from heaven, and blessing the work of his hand with success. There is a picture like this in the famous old manuscript of Virgil in the Vatican; and Lucretius has a strong description of another deity, exactly in the same attitude, though with a very different regard.

Polymetis, page 103.

This image of Ceres puts one in mind of that beautiful one in the psalms—Righteousness (a person) hath looked down from heaven.

121. Solstice.] Solstice, when used alone, is always used for the summer solstice by the ancients. Holdsworth.

125. And Gargarus.] This is one of those figures that raise the style of the Georgics, and make it so majestic.

133. Rills.] When the Persians were masters of Asia, they permitted those who conveyed a spring to any place, which had not been watered before, to enjoy the benefit for five generations; and as a number of rivulets flowed from mount Taurus, they spared no expence in directing the course of their streams. At this day, without knowing how they came thither, they are found in the fields and gardens, Montesquieu's Spirit of Laws, Vol. 1. p. 325.

139. Feeds down.] It is a common practice among the farmers at present, when the corn is too rank and luxuriant, to turn in their sheep and feed it down.

149. Goose.] Virgil speaks of the geese as a very troublesome bird, and very pernicious to the corn. They are still so in flocks, in the Campania Felice, the country which Virgil had chiefly in his eye when he wrote his Georgics. Holdsworth.

153. With cares he rous'd.] This account of the providential usefulness of some seeming evils, is not only beautifully poetical, but strictly philosophical. Want is the origin of arts: Infirmities and weaknesses are the cause and cement of human society. If man were perfect and self-sufficient, all the efforts of industry would be useless. A dead calm would reign over all the species.

‘Wants, frailties, passions, closer still ally
‘The common int'rest, and endear the tye;

Says the great moral poet in his Essay on Man. And this doctrine is strongly illustrated throughout that whole system.

189. From forest oaks.] This is another instance of Virgil's poetical manner of telling plain things; instead of saying, You will have no crop; You will be forc'd, says he, to go into the wild forests, as man used to do, before he was civilized, for food.

192. Plough.] I have a drawing of an antique plough, from a brass figure in the jesuits college at Rome. I don't know the exact time or place in which it was made, but every part of it seems to me to have something to answer it in Virgil's description. The figure of it is below: and I take all the bending part of the wood, or the plough tail (mark'd a) to be what Virgil calls buris; b the pole or temo; c the two pieces that go over the necks of the oxen; which he calls aures; d the plough-share, dentale; e the two clouts of iron to fasten the plough-share, dorsa; and f the handle of the plough, or stiva.

Spence.

I have borrow'd a few lines from Mr. Benson's translation of this passage.

195. Bacchus' flying sail.] The persons who were initiated into any of the ancient mysteries, were to be particularly good; they looked upon themselves as separated from the vulgar of mankind, and dedicated to a life of singular virtue and piety. This may be the reason that the fan or van, the mystica vannus Iacchi, was used in initiations: The instrument that separates the wheat from the chaff being as proper an emblem as can well be, of setting apart the good and virtuous from the wicked or useless part of mankind.

In the drawings of the ancient paintings by Bellori, there are two that seem to relate to initiations; and each of them has the vannus in it. In one of them, the person that is initiating, stands in a devout posture, and with a veil on, the old mark of devotion; while two that were formerly initiated hold the van over his head. In the other there is a person holding a van, with a young infant in it. The latter may signify much the same with the scripture expression, entering into a state of virtue “as a little child.” Mark x. 15. The van itself puts one in mind of another text relating to a particular purity of life, and the separation of the good from the bad. “Whose fan is in hand, and he shall thoroughly purge his floor, and will gather the wheat into his garner; but the the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.” Luke iii. 17.

Holdsworth and Spence.

208. Floor.] Aream esse oportet—solidâ terrâ pavitam, maximè siest argilla, ne aestû paeminosa, in rimis ejus grana delitescant, et recipiant aquam, et ostia aperiant muribus & formicis. Itaque amurcâ solent perfundere, ea enim herbarum est inimica & formicarum, & talparum venenum. Thus says Varro, from whom 'tis plain Virgil borrow'd this precept, as he has done many others.

240. The torrent.] It is remarkable in Virgil, that he frequently joins in the same sentence the complete and perfect present with the extended and passing present; which proves that he considered the two, as belonging to the same species of time; and therefore naturally formed to co-incide with each other.

------ Si brachia forte remisit,
Atque illum in praeceps prono rapit alveus omni.
Geor. I. Terra tremit, fugere ferae.
G. I. Praesertim si tempestas a vertice sylvis
Incubuit, glomeratque ferens incendia ventus.
G. II. ------ Tardis ingens ubi flexibus errat
Mincius, et tenera praetexit arundine ripas.
G. III. ------ Illa nota citius, volucrique sagittâ,
Ad terram fugit, et portu se condidit alto.
Aen. 5

In the same manner he joins the same two modifications of time in the past; that is to say, the complete and perfect with the extended and passing.

------ Irruerant Danai & tectum omne tenebant.
Aen. II. Tris imbris torti radios, tris nubis aquosae
Addiderant, rutuli tris ignis, et alitis austri.
Fulgores nunc terrificos sonitumque metumque
Miscebant operi, flammisque sequacibus iras.
Aen. VIII. Harris's Hermes, p. 133.

248. Winter's.] Bruma was not used by the ancients for the whole winter; but for one day only of it, the shortest day, or the winter solstice. Holdsworth.

248. First.] The word extremus in Latin has two very different significations; it may relate to the beginning, as well as the end of any thing; or to the nearest part of it, as well as that farthest off. Thus, if one was to say, in extremo ponte, it may mean the hither extremity or end of the bridge; and when Virgil says his countrymen should work

Usque sub extremum brumae intractabilis imbrem:

It must be understood of the beginning of that rainy season, which was itself unfit for work; this took up the latter half of December, which was therefore turned all into holy-days, or the Saturnalia, in which the slaves that were at other times kept hard to work, were indulged in particular liberties, and spent all the time in mirth and joviality.

Holdsworth.

257. His backward-rising star.] By averso astro, 'tis most probable Virgil means the Bull; for that constellation rises with his hinder parts upwards. Throughout Manilius the Bull is called astrum aversum. Some read adversum; but that is scarce reconcileable to the sense of this passage.

260. Pleiades.] The heliacal setting of these stars Eoae Atlantides is pointed out by the word abscondantur. Whereever Virgil speaks of the setting of any stars in general, and without any such restriction, it is always to be understood of their natural setting. Holdsworth.

272. Five zones.] Under the torrid or burning zone lies that part of the earth which is contained between the two tropics. This was thought by the ancients to be uninhabitable, because of the excessive heat: but later discoveries have shewn it to be inhabited by many great nations. It contains a great part of Asia, Africa, and South America. Under the two frigid or cold zones lie those parts of the earth, which are included within the two polar circles, which are so cold, being at a great distance from the sun, as to be scarce habitable. Within the artic circle, near the north pole, are contained Nova Zembla, Lapland, Groenland, &c. within the antartic circle, near the south pole, no land as yet has been discovered; tho' the great quantities of ice found there make it probable, that there is more land near the south than the north pole. Under the two temperate zones are contained those parts of the globe which lie between the tropics and polar circles. The temperate zone, between the artic circle and the tropic of Cancer, contains the greatest part of Europe and Asia, part of Africa, and almost all North America. That between the antartic circle and the tropic of Capricorn, contains part of South America, or the Antipodes. See Martyn.

281. Roll the signs.] Here the poet describes the zodiac, which is a broad belt spreading about five or six degrees on each side of the ecliptic line, and contains the twelve constellations or signs. They are Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Cancer, Leo, Virgo, Libra, Scorpio, Sagittarius, Capricornus, Aquarius, Pisces. The ecliptic line cuts the equinoctial obliquely in two opposite points, whence the poet calls the zodiac obliquus signorum ordo. It traverses the whole torrid zone, but neither of the temperate zones; so that, per ambas, must mean between, not thro' them. Thus presently after, speaking of the Dragon, he says it twines, per duas arctos: now that constellation cannot be said to twine thro' the two Bears, but between them. The zodiac is the annual path of the sun, thro' each sign of which he passes in about the space of a month. He is said to be in one of those signs, when he appears in that part of the heavens, where those stars are, of which the sign is composed. Martyn.

290. The Bears] Mr. Benson thinks this line in the original spurious, and omits it as such.

313. Mark.] How came the Romans not to find out the art of printing many ages ago? The Caesars impressed their whole names on grants and letters, and this practice was so common a one, that even the shepherds impressed their names on their cattle.

------ Vivi quoque pondera melle
Argenti coquito, lentumque bitumen aheno,
Impressurus ovi tua nomina; hanc tibi lites
Aufert ingentes lectus professor in arvo.
Calphurnius, Ecl. 3. 85. Spence.

337. Ossa on Pelion.]

Ter sunt conat imponere Pelio Ossam.

To represent the giants piling up the mountains on each other,

“The line too labours and the words move slow.
Pope.

The verse cannot be read without making pauses; so judiciously are the hiatus's contrived. Hesiod has most nobly described this battle of the giants. The learned Mr. Jortin thinks the ασπις to be his. See Milton's battle of the angels, Book 6, and compare it with Hesiod.

357. Corn] The Romans did not thrash or winnow their corn: in the heat of the day, as soon as it was reaped, they laid it on a floor made on purpose, in the middle of the field, and then they drove horses or mules round about it, till they trod all the grain out.

Benson.

This was the common practice too all over the east; and that humane text of scripture, “Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn,” is a plain allusion to it.

395. Great Jove himself pavilion'd.] This description is very sublime. While the winds are roaring, the rains descending, the rivers overflowing, he nobly introduces Jupiter himself surrounded with a thick cloud, and from thence darting his thunderbolts, and splitting the loftiest mountains, all the earth trembling and astonished with fear and dread. I follow Mr. Benson and Masvicius, in reading plangit (instead of plangunt) because it adds a poetical and bold image of Jupiter's striking the woods and shores. This description, fine as it is, is excelled by the storm in the 18th psalm. God is described flying upon the wings of the wind—“He made darkness his secret place, his pavilion round about him, with dark water and thick clouds to cover him.—The springs of waters were seen, and the foundations of the round world were discovered at thy chiding, O Lord.” See the whole, too long to be transcribed, but inimitably great and sublime.

Credite Romani scriptores, cedite Graii!

398. The beasts are fled.] Dr. Trapp justly observes, that fugêre being put in the preter-perfect tense has a wonderful force: “We see, says he, the beasts scudding away, and they are gone, and out of sight in a moment.” It is a pity that learned gentleman did not not preserve the force of this tense in his translation. He has not only used the present tense, but has diminished the strength and quickness of the expression, which Virgil has made to consist only of two words, fugêre ferae, by adding an epithet to beasts, and mentioning the place they fly to:

“------ savage beasts to coverts fly.”
Dryden

Dryden has been guilty of the same oversight:

“And flying beasts in forests seek abode.”

“The Latin, says Mr. Benson, is as quick and sudden as their flight. Fugêre ferae, they are all vanished in an instant. But in Mr. Dryden's translation, one would imagine these creatures were drove out of some inclosed country, and were searching for entertainment in the next forest.” But Mr. Benson did not observe the beauty of the tense.

“Far shakes the earth, beasts fly, and mortal hearts
“Pale fear dejects ------
Martyn.

417. And Ceres call.] This sacrifice the Romans called Ambarvalia from ambire arva; for they led the victim round the fields.

427. Mountain.]—Aridus alte. This puts me in mind of a passage in Thomson's Seasons on the same subject, the approach of a storm:

“Along the woods, along the moorish fens,
“Sighs the sad genius of a coming storm;
“And up among the loose disjointed cliffs,
“And fractur'd mountains wild, the brawling brook
“And cave presageful send a hollow moan,
“Resounding long in listening fancy's car.
Thomson's Winter, l. 70.

446. The heifer tossing.] This prognostic is taken from Aratus; and I would observe once for all, that almost each of the signs of weather are borrowed (and indeed beautified) from that ancient writer. The line

Arguta lacus, circumvolitavit hirundo,

with several that precede and follow it, are intirely taken with very small alterations from Varro Atacinus, as may be seen in Servius.

452. Deep drinks the bow.] Alludes to the ridiculous notion of the ancients, that the rainbow suck'd up water with its horns from lakes and rivers.

461. Stalks across the scorching sands.] The line admirably represents the action of the crow, and is an echo to the sense. Those who are fond of alliteration, are delighted with this verse, where so many s's are found together: they may say the same of plena pluviam et vocat voce, in the preceding line.

467. Calm.] According to what Pierius found in several old manuscripts: for the poet begins to speak of fair weather.

477. In vain repeats.] Dr. Trapp interprets nequicquam, in vain, Dr. Martyn, not repeats.—If we understand the poet to be speaking of the continuance of fair weather, nequicquam must signify not; because, according to Pliny, the hooting of the owl at such a time would be a sign of rain.

Mr. Dryden has strangely translated this passage:

“And owls that mark the setting sun declare,
“A star-light evening and a morning fair.

487. Not that to them.] This is a remarkable instance of Virgil's clear and beautiful style in expressing even the most abstruse notions. The meaning of the words fato prudentia major, which occasions difficulties among the commentators, seems to be, a greater knowledge (than men have) in the fate of things.

505. Clearly.] The verse in the original is quoted by Seneca in his works, in a different manner from the common reading,—Plena, nec obtusis per coelum cornibus ibit; and he certainly meant it so, by what he says of it. If this be the true reading, it may be thus understood.—“If on the fourth day of the new moon, its whole disk appears, and the horns of that part of it which is enlighten'd, are sharp, and well-pointed; then the next day, and all the following to the end of the month, will be free both from high winds and rain.” Holdsworth.

525. The dusky rain.] Tho' I believe there is no one thing in the whole language of the Romans, that we are more at a loss about now, than their names of colours; it appears evidently enough, that coerulcus was used by them for some dark colour or other. One might bring a number of instances to prove this, but one or two from Virgil will be sufficient:

Coeruleus pluviam denuntiat.
------ Coeruleus supra caput astitit imber,
Noctem hyememque ferens, et inhorruit unda tenebris.
Aen. 3. 195. Polymetis, pag. 167. note 24.

536. Auster meditate.] Several of the commentators that have been used to consider the winds only in a natural way, and never perhaps in an allegorical one, are greatly offended at the word cogitet here. The thinking of a wind is to them the highest pitch of absurdity that can be. They are therefore for altering the passage into quid cogat et humidus auster, or quid concitet—contra omnes codices, as themselves say: If these gentlemen would please to consider that it is not they, but Virgil that is speaking here; that the winds were frequently represented as persons in his time; that he had been used to see them so represented both in Greece, and in his own country; that they were commonly worshipped as gods—and they may perhaps be persuaded not to think this so strange an expression for him to use. Polymetis, Dial. 13. p. 204.

541. He too bewailing.] 'Tis amazing that the best historians, Pliny, Plutarch, and Appian, join in relating these prodigies. Plutarch not only mentions the paleness of the sun, for a whole year after Caesar's death, but adds, that the fruits rotted for want of heat. Appian relates the stories of the clashing of arms, and shouts in the air, an ox speaking with a human voice, statues sweating blood, wolves howling in the Forum, and victims wanting entrails.

562. Eridanus.] The redundant syllable in fluviorum, is expressive of the inundation. Dion Cassius relates, that the river Po did not only overflow and occasion prodigious damages, but left likewise great quantities of serpents when it retired.

569. Philippi.] Many learned critics have disputed about the meaning of this passage, which was never cleared up till Mr. Holdsworth published a judicious dissertation on the subject. He is of opinion, that Virgil means by his two battles of Philippi, not two battles fought on the same individual spot, but at two distant places of the same name, the former at Philippi (alias Thebae Phthiae) near Pharsalus in Thessaly: the latter at Philippi near the confines of Thrace. And tho' historians (all except Lucius Florus) for distinction's sake, call the latter battle only by the name of Philippi; yet, as there was one at Philippi near Pharsalia, in sight of which the former was fought, the poets, for certain reasons (which, says he, I shall consider hereafter) call both by the same name. As to the reasons which he says determined Virgil to call both battles by the same name, the chief of them I think is this: “that in compliment to Augustus, he might impress the superstitious Romans with a belief, that the vengeance of the gods against the murderers of Caesar was denounced by numbers of prodigies and omens; and in so remarkable a manner that there appeared in it a particular stroke of providence, according to the heathen superstition, that the second battle which proved fatal to the Romans, should be fought in the same province with the first, and near a second Philippi.”

574. Ploughs.] The delicate art of the poet in returning to his subject by inserting this circumstance of the ploughman's finding old armour, cannot be sufficiently admired. Philips ha finely imitated it in his Cyder, where speaking of the destruction of old Ariconium, he adds,

“—Upon that treacherous tract of land,
“She whilom stood; now Ceres, in her prime,
“Smiles fertile, and, with ruddiest freight bedeck'd
“The apple-tree, by our fore-fathers' blood
“Improv'd, that now recalls the devious muse,
“Urging her destin'd labours to pursue.
Philips's Cyder, Book I.

579. Ye greater guardian gods.] Virgil (says Mr. Spence) by the dii patrii, here means the great train of deities, first received all over the east, and afterwards successively in Greece and Italy. Among the Romans, the three deities received as supreme, were Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva; and therefore Virgil adds the word indigetes, to fix it to the θεοι πατρωοι, or the three great supreme gods, received as such in his own country. Indigetes here is much the same as nostri in Juvenal, when he speaks of these very deities. Mr. Spence observes how faultily Dryden has translated this passage. Polymetis, Dial. 20.

582. Etrurian.] Virgil in this place, and in Geo. 2. 530. speaks of Tuscany and Rome almost as if they were upon the same footing; chiefly out of complaisance for his great patron Mecaenas, who was descended from the old race of the kings of that country. Holdsworth.

586. False Laomedon] Apollo and Neptune being hired by Laomedon, to assist him in building a wall round his city of Troy, when the work was finished were by him defrauded of their pay.


219

BOOK II.

Thus far of tillage, and the heav'nly signs;
Now thee I sing, O Bacchus, god of vines!
With thee the various race of sylvan trees,
And olives, blooming late by slow degrees.
Come, sacred sire, with luscious clusters crown'd,
Here all the riches of thy reign abound;
Each field replete with blushing autumn glows
And in deep tides for thee, the pregnant vintage flows.
O come, thy buskins, sacred sire, unloose,
And tinge with me thy thighs in purple juice.
Kind nature trees, by several means, supplies,
Spontaneous some, by art untaught, arise;
At will, by brook, in lawn or meadow, bloom
Th'obedient osier, and the bending broom;

221

While with the poplar on the mazy shore
The willow waves its azure foliage hoar.
Part by the force of quick'ning seed arise,
Hence tow'rs the lofty chesnut to the skies;
And Aesculus, great monarch of the grove,
Supreme and stateliest of the trees of Jove:
With the proud oak, beneath whose awful shade
Religious rites fond Greece devoutly paid.
Some pour an infant forest from their roots,
Thus elms and cherries spring in frequent shoots.
Thus too, their tender tops Parnassus' bays,
Beneath their mother's sheltering shadow, raise.
So spring, as nature various means approves,
Or woods, or shrubs, or consecrated groves.
Yet other means has sage experience found;
This, from the mother-trunk, within the ground
The tender sucker sets; another takes
Of larger growth, cross-split, or sharpen'd stakes.
And oft, in native earth, the boughs we see
Inverted, multiply the parent tree:
Nor fears the gard'ner oft, the smallest shoot
To trust to earth; some ask not for a root.
Oft from cleft olive-trunks with age decay'd
New fibres shoot, and springs a wond'rous shade.

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Ev'n different trees a mutual change assume,
And still improv'd, with alien foliage bloom;
By pear-trees are ingrafted apples borne,
And stony corneils blushing plums adorn.
Search then, ye farmers, with sagacious mind,
How best to manage every various kind.
With culture civilize your savage trees,
Nor let your lands lie dead in slothful ease.
What joy the grapes on Ismarus to crop,
And cloath with olives huge Taburnus' top!
Haste then my better part of fame, my pride,
Do thou my course at once assist and guide;
Do thou, Maecenas, share with me the gale,
And o'er expanded seas unfurl the swelling sail.
Nor soars my thought ambitious to rehearse,
All nature's wonders, in my shorter verse;
A task like this, would ask an hundred tongues,
An hundred mouths, and iron-armed lungs.
Still will we keep the friendly shore at hand,
Nor dare to launch too boldly from the land:
Nor will I tire thine ear with fables vain,
With long preambles and superfluous strain.
The trees, whose shades spontaneous pierce the skies,
Tho' barren, beautiful and vig'rous rise;
For nature works beneath: but if thy toil
Graft, or transplant them in a gentler soil,
Their genius wild, where-e'er thou lead'st the way,
Of discipline sequacious, will obey:
So will the sprouts that from the root arose
If plac'd amid the plain, in order'd rows:
For else the mother's overshadowing top,
Or blasts the fruit, or checks the promis'd crop.

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All trees from seed advance by slow degrees,
And for a future race their shades increase;
Their fruits once fraught with richest juice decay;
Lo! birds amid neglected vineyards prey;
All, all must feel the force of toil intense,
Be to the trench confin'd, and tam'd with large expence.
With best success, from truncheons olives spring;
Layers of the vine the fairest clusters bring;
From sets will bloom the myrtle, plant of love;
But quite full-grown transplant the hazle-grove;

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Ash too, tho' tall, and that fair tree whose boughs
Bear the broad crown that binds Alcides' brows,
Jove's oak, or palm high-waving o'er the steep,
And fir now fit to tempt the dang'rous deep.
On th'horrid arbute graft the walnut's spray,
Or bid with apples barren planes look gay:
Oft has the beech the tempting chesnut bore,
The wild ash stood with pear-tree blossoms hoar,
And swine beneath the elm have crack'd the masty store.
The swains who graft, employ a different art
From those, who to the bark a bud impart:
For thro' the rind where bursts the tender gem,
Fast by the knot they wound the taper stem,
Then in the slit an alien bud confin'd,
They teach to knit congenial with the rind,

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Or thro' the polish'd trunk they wedge their way,
And in the chasm insert a lusty spray;
Ere long to heaven the soaring branches shoot,
And wonder at their height, and more than native fruit.
Besides, of sturdy elms a different kind,
Of willows, and the watery lote, we find.
Th'Idean cypress various looks assumes,
In several forms the luscious olive blooms:
Nor Orchite's nor the Radius' kind is one,
Nor Pausia's by their bitter berries known;
In various hues to shine the apple loves;
How many species deck Alcinous' groves?
What vast varieties each orchard bears,
In syrian, bergamot, and pounder pears?
Nor the same grape Hesperia's vintage fills,
Which Lesbos gathers from Methymnia's hills.
Of Thasian vines, and Mariotic white,
One loves a fatten'd soil, and one a light;
Best are the Psythian when by Phoebus dry'd;
Thin is Lageos' penetrating tide,
By which the faultering tongue, and staggering feet are try'd;
Purple there are, and grapes which early spring;
But in what strains thee, Rhaetic, shall I sing?
Yet dare not thou with Falern juice contest!
Amminean wines for body are the best;
To these, ev'n Tmolus bends his cluster'd brows,
And, king of vine-clad hills, Phanaeus bows;
Ev'n Argos' lesser grape is far surpast,
Tho' fam'd so much to flow, so long to last.
Nor thine, O Rhodes, I pass, whose streams afford
Libations to the gods, and crown the board:

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Nor thee, Bumastus, grape of plumpest size;
But can my song each various race comprise?
He that cou'd each rehearse, the sands might count,
That from the Lybian waste in whirling eddies mount:
Or tell the billows as they beat the shores,
When all th'Ionian sea with raging Boreas roars.
Nor every race will thrive in every ground:
Willows along the river-banks abound;
While alders bud in wet and weeping plains,
The wild ash on the ridgy mountain reigns:
Myrtles the shore, the baleful eughs approve
Bleak blasts, and vines the sunny summit love.
Th'extreme of cultivated lands survey,
The painted Scythians, and the realms of day;
All trees allotted keep their several coasts,
India alone the sable ebon boasts;
Sabaea bears the branch of frankincense.
And shall I sing, how teeming trees dispense,
Rich fragrant balms in many a trickling tear,
With soft Acanthus' berries, never fear?
From Aethiop woods, where woolly leaves encrease,
How Syrians comb the vegetable fleece?
Or shall I tell how India hangs her woods,
Bound of this earth, o'er Ocean's unknown floods?
Where to such height the trees gigantic grow,
That far they leave the sounding shaft below,
Tho' skill'd the natives are to bend the bow.
The Median fields rich citron fruits produce,
Tho' harsh the taste, and clammy be the juice;

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Blest antidote! which when in evil hour,
The step-dame mixes herbs of poisonous pow'r,
And crowns the bowl with many a mutter'd spell,
Will from the veins the direful draught expell.
Large is the trunk, and laurel-like its frame
And 'twere a laurel, were its scent the same.
Its lasting leaf each roaring blast defies,
Tenacious of the stem its flourets rise:
Hence a more wholsome breath the Medes receive,
And of their Sires the lab'ring lungs relieve.
But neither Media's groves, her teeming mold,
Fair Ganges' flood, nor Hermus thick with gold;
Nor all the stores Panchaia's glebe expands,
Where spices overflow the fragrant sands;
Nor Bactrian, nor Arabian fields can vie
With the blest scenes of beauteous Italy.
Bulls breathing fire her furrows ne'er have known,
Ne'er with the dreadful dragon's teeth were sown,
Whence sprung an iron crop, an armed train,
With helm and spear embattell'd on the plain.
But plenteous corn she boasts, and gen'rous wine,
The luscious olive, and the joyful kine.
Hence o'er the plain the warrior-steed elate,
Prances with portly pace in martial state;
Hence snowy flocks wash'd in thy sacred stream,
Clitumnus, and of victims the supreme

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The mighty bull, have led thro' shouting trains
Rome's pompous triumphs to the lofty fanes.
The fields here spring's perpetual beauties crown,
Here summer shines in seasons not her own.
Twice teem the cattle each revolving year,
And twice the trees their blushing burthen bear.
Nor here the tygress rears her rav'nous breed,
Far hence is the fell lion's savage seed:
Nor wretched simplers specious weeds invite,
For wholesom herbs, to crop pale aconite:
Nor scaly snakes in such vast volumes glide,
Nor on a train so thick, and spires so lofty ride.
Behold, around what far-fam'd cities rise,
What stately works of daedal artifice!
With tow'red towns here craggy cliffs are crown'd,
Here rivers roll old moss-grown ramparts round.
And shall my song her two-fold ocean boast,
That pours its riches forth on either coast?
Her spacious lakes; first, mighty Larius, thee?
And thee, Benacus, roaring like a sea?
Her ports and harbours, and the Lucrine mounds,
From which the beating main indignant bounds;
Where Julius' flood of bonds impatient raves,
And how Avernus' streights confine the Tuscan waves?

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Her fields with brass and silver veins have glow'd,
Her pregnant rocks with gold abundant flow'd.
She birth to many a race, in battle brave,
The Marsian, and the Sabine soldier, gave.
Her's are Liguria's sons, untaught to yield,
And her's the Volsci, skill'd the spear to wield;
The Decian hence, and Marian heroes came,
Hence sprung thy line, Camillus, mighty name:
Hence rose the Scipios, undismay'd in fight,
And thou, great Caesar, whose victorious might,
From Rome's high walls, on Asia's utmost plains,
Aw'd into peace fierce India's rage restrains.
All hail, Saturnian soil! immortal source
Of mighty men and plenty's richest stores!
For thee my lays inquisitive impart
This useful argument of ancient art;
For thee, I dare unlock the sacred spring,
And thro' thy streets Ascrean numbers sing.
Next, of each various soil the genius hear!
Its colour, strength, what best dispos'd to bear:
Th'unfriendly cliffs, and unprolific ground,
Where clay jejune, and the cold flint abound,
Where bushes overspread the barren field,
Will best th'unfading grove of Pallas yield:
Here the wild olive woods luxuriant shoot,
And all the plains are strewn with sylvan fruit.

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But the rich soil with genial force endu'd,
All green with grass, with moisture sweet bedew'd,
Such as we oft survey from cavern'd hills,
Whence many a stream descends in dripping rills,
And with rich ooze the fatt'ning valley fills;
Or that which feels the balmy southern air,
And feeds the fern unfriendly to the share,
Ere long will vines of lustiest growth produce,
And big with bounteous Bacchus' choicest juice,
Will give the grape, in solemn sacrifice,
Whose purple stream the golden goblet dyes,
When the fat Tuscan's horn has call'd the god,
And the full chargers bend beneath the smoaking load.
But bullocks would you rear, and herds of cows,
Or sheep, or goats that crop the budding boughs;
Seek rich Tarentum's plains, a distant coast,
And fields like those my luckless Mantua lost,
His silver-pinion'd swans where Mincio feeds,
As slow they sail among the wat'ry weeds.
There for thy flocks fresh fountains never fail,
Undying verdure cloaths the grassy vale;
And what is crop'd by day, the night renews,
Shedding refreshful stores of cooling dews.
A sable soil, and fat beneath the share,
That crumbles to the touch, of texture rare,
And (what our art effects) by nature loose,
Will the best growth of foodful grain produce:
And from no field, beneath pale evening's star
With heavier harvests fraught, returns the nodding car.
Or else the plain, from which the ploughman's rage
Has fell'd the forest, hoar through many an age,

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And tore the tall trees from their ancient base,
Long the dark covert of the feathery race;
Banish'd their bow'rs, abroad they mount in air,
While shines the new-turn'd soil beneath th'invading share.
But the lean gravel of the sloping field,
And mould'ring stones, where snakes their mansions build,
Where in dark windings filthy reptiles breed,
And find sweet food their lurking young to feed;
To bees ungenial, scarcely will supply
Their casia-flow'rs, and dewy rosemary.
But in that ground, which from its opening chinks,
At will a steaming mist emits, or drinks;
Which blooms with native grass for ever fair,
Nor blunts with eating rust the sliding share,
Round thy tall elms the joyous vines shall weave;
And floods of luscious oil thy olives give:
This, with due culture, thou shalt surely find
Obedient to the plough, and to thy cattle kind.
Such fertile lands rich Capua's peasants till,
And such the soil beneath Vesevus' hill;
And that, where o'er Acerrae's prostrate tow'rs
Clanius his swelling tide too fiercely pours.
Rules to know different soils I next dispense;
How to distinguish from the rare the dense.
This best for vines, that golden grain approves,
Ceres, the dense; the rare Lyaeus loves.

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First chuse a spot that's for the purpose fit,
Then dig the solid earth, and sink a pit;
Next, to its bed th'ejected soil restore,
And press with trampling feet the surface o'er;
If the mold fail, 'tis light; that soil inclines
To feed thy herds, to swell thy cluster'd vines.
But o'er the pit replenish'd, if the ground
Still rise, and in superfluous heaps abound,
O'er the thick glebe let sturdy bullocks toil,
Cleave the compacted clods and sluggish soil.
The land that's bitter, or with salt imbu'd,
Too wild for culture, for the plough too rude,
Where apples boast no more their purple hues,
And drooping Bacchus yields degen'rate juice,
May thus be known:—of twigs a basket twine
Like that from whence is strain'd the recent wine,
This with the soil and crystal water fill,
Then squeeze the mass, while thro' the twigs distil
The big round drops in many a trickling rill;
Then shall its nature from its taste appear,
And the wry mouth its bitter juice declare.
Learn from these tokens fat and viscid land;
It sticks like pitch uncrumbled to the hand;
The moister mold a rank luxuriance feeds,
Of lengthen'd grass, and tall promiscuous weeds;
O may be mine no over-fertile plain,
That shoots too strongly forth its early grain!
The light and heavy in the balance try,
The black and other colours strike the eye;

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Not so the cold; lo! there dark ivy spreads,
Or yews or pitch-trees lift their gloomy heads.
These rules observ'd, expose the clods to dry,
Bak'd and concocted by the northern sky.
Trench deep, and turn the soil, before ye place
The tender vines, a joy-diffusing race;
Fat molds grow mellow by the delver's pains,
By fanning winds and frosts, and cooling rains.
But hinds of greater diligence and care,
Two soils, of genius similar, prepare,
Lest the fond offspring its chang'd mother mourns,
And genial lap whence suddenly 'tis torn:
Thus plants from infancy to strength arrive,
And in a kindred soil, transplanted thrive.
Besides, their former site they nicely mark,
With sharpen'd knife upon the yielding bark;
And place them as before they stood inclin'd,
To the hot south, or blustering northern wind:
Such is the strength of custom, such appears
The force of habits gain'd in tender years.
Now swain enquire, if best the vine will grow
On the high hill, or in the valley low.
If on rich plains extends thy level ground,
Thick set thy plants, their clusters will abound;
If on a gentle hill or sloping bank,
In measur'd squares exact your vineyards rank;
Each narrow path and equal opening place,
To front, and answer to the crossing space.
As in just ranks, and many an order'd band,
On some vast plain the Roman legions stand,

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Before the shouting squadrons battle join,
And earth reflects the dazzling armour's shine,
Mars sternly stalks each equal front betwixt,
Nor yet the fate of either host is fixt:
Ev'n thus, your vines dispos'd at distance due,
Not only strike with joy the gazer's view,
But earth more equal nutriment supplies,
The plants find space to spread, and vigorous rise.
Perhaps the depth of trenches you'll demand;
The vine I dare to plant in shallow land;
But forest-trees that rear their branches higher,
A deeper mold, and wider room require:
Chief the tall Aesculus, that towrs above
Each humbler tree, the monarch of the grove;
High as his head shoots lofty to the skies,
So deep his root in hell's foundation lies;
While storms and wintry blasts and driving rain
Beat fiercely on his stately top in vain,
Unhurt, unmov'd, he stands in hoary state,
For many an age beyond frail mortals' date,
This way and that, his vast arms widely spread,
He in the midst supports the thick-surrounding shade.
Ne'er let thy vineyards to the west decline;
No hazle plant amid the joyous vine;

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No scions pluck a-top, but near the roots;
Nor wound with blunted steel the red'ning shoots;
Nor let wild olives (noxious plants!) be found
Nigh to those spots where luscious grapes abound.
Oft from unwary shepherds falls a spark,
Which lurking first beneath the unctuous bark,
Seizes the solid tree; with dreadful roar
The flames thro' catching leaves and branches soar,
Swift thro' the crackling wood triumphant fly,
And hurl the pitchy clouds into the darken'd sky.
But most they ravage, if the roaring wind
With doubled rage should rise, with fire combin'd;
No vines, hereafter, sow'd, or prun'd, will thrive,
The bitter-leav'd wild olives sole survive.
Let none persuade to plant, in winter hoar,
When rigid Boreas' spirit blusters frore;
Winter the pores of earth so closely binds,
No passage the too tender fibre finds;
Plant best the vines in blushing spring's fresh bloom,
When the white bird, the dread of snakes is come:
Or in cool autumn, when the summer's past,
Ere Phoebus' steeds to the cold tropic haste.
In spring, in blushing spring, the woods resume
Their leafy honours, and their fragrant bloom,

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Earth swells with moisture all her teeming lands,
And genial fructifying seed demands;
Almighty Jove descends, more full of life,
On the warm bosom of his kindling wife;
The birds with music fill the pathless groves,
Stung by desire the beasts renew their loves;
The buried grain appears, the fields unbind
Their pregnant bosoms to the western wind;
The springing grass to trust this season dares;
No tender vine the gathering tempest fears,
By the black north or roaring uster roll'd,
But spreads her leaves, and bids her gems unfold.
Such were the days, the season was the same,
When first arose this world's all-beauteous frame,
The sky was cloudless, balmy was the air,
And spring's mild influence made young nature fair:
When cattle first o'er new-born mountains spread,
And man, an iron race, uprear'd his hardy head:
When beasts thro' pathless brakes began to prowl,
And glittering stars thro' heav'n's blue concave roll.
Nor could this infant world sustain th'extremes
Of piercing winter, and hot Sirius' beams,
Did not kind heav'n, the fierce excess between,
Bid gentler spring's soft season intervene.
Now when you bend the layers to the ground
Cast fatt'ning dung and copious mold around;
Or near the roots rough shells and pebbles hide,
Thro' which the fostering rains may gently glide;

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Thro' which may subtle vapours penetrate,
And to large growth the tendrils instigate.
There are, with weights of stone who press the roots,
Best safeguard to the plants, and future fruits,
Both in immoderate showers, or summer's heat,
When Sirius' beams on the parcht vineyard beat.
About the roots oft turn the neighb'ring soil,
And urge the drag and hough with frequent toil,
Or introduce thy plough's unweildy load,
And 'twixt thy vines the struggling bullocks goad.
The knotless cane, the forky ash prepare,
Auxiliar pole, and strong supporting spear;
Assisted thus, the lusty plants despise,
The shattering whirlwinds, and the stormy skies,
And to the tall elm's top by just gradations rise.
The new-born buds, the tender foliage spare;
The shoots that vigorous dart into the air,
Disdaining bonds, all free, and full of life,
O dare not wound too soon with sharpen'd knife!
Insert your bending fingers, gently cull
The roving shoots, and red'ning branches pull:
But when they clasp their elms with strong embrace,
Lop the luxuriant boughs, a lawless race;
Ere this, they dread the steel; now, now, reclaim
The flowing branches, the bold wand'rers tame.
Next thy young vines with fences strong surround,
To guard from cattle thy selected ground:
For not alone by winter's chilling frost,
Or summer's scorching beam the plants are lost;

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But the wild buffaloes and greedy cows,
And goats and sportive kids the branches browze;
Not piercing colds, nor Sirius' beams that beat
On the parcht hills, and split their tops with heat,
So deeply injure as the nibbling flocks,
That wound with venom'd teeth th'indented stocks.
Hence is the goat on Bacchus' altar laid,
Hence on the lofty stage are ancient fables play'd;
Th'Athenians first to rival wits decreed,
In streets and villages the poet's meed;
The feast with mirth and foaming goblets kept,
And on the goat-skin bladders rudely leapt.
Nor less th'Ausonian swains deriv'd from Troy,
Sport in rough numbers and unwieldy joy,
Their hollow vizards scoop from barks of trees,
And stain their ghastly masks with purple lees;
Bacchus, on thee they call, with songs of joy;
And hang on pines thy earthen statues high:
Hence plenty every laughing vineyard fills,
Thro' the deep vallies and the sloping hills;
Where-e'er the god inclines his lovely face,
More luscious fruits the rich plantations grace.

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Then let us Bacchus' praises duly sing,
And consecrated cakes, and chargers bring,
Dragg'd by their horns let victim-goats expire,
And roast on hazel spits before the sacred fire.
Another toil in dressing vines remains
Unconquerable still by ceaseless pains;
Thrice and four times the soil, each rolling year,
The ponderous ploughs, and heavy drags must bear;
Leaves must be thinn'd:—still following in a ring
The months fresh labours to the peasants bring.
Ev'n when the tree its last pale leaves hath shed,
And Boreas stript the honours of its head,
To the next year the careful farmers look,
And form the plant with Saturn's bending hook.
Dig thou the first, and shoots superfluous burn,
And homeward first the vineyard's stakes return,
But (unbetray'd by too impatient haste)
To reap thy luscious vintage be the last:
Twice noxious weeds, twice shade, o'er-run the land,
Whose rank increase requires the pruner's hand.
To larger vineyards praise or wonder yield,
But cultivate a small and manageable field.
Nor fail to cut the broom and watery reed,
And the wild willow of the grassy mead.
The vines now ty'd with many a strengthening band,
No more the culture of the knife demand.
Glad for his labour past and long employ,
At the last rank the dresser sings for joy!

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Yet still must he subdue, still turn the mold,
And his ripe grapes still fear rough storms or piercing cold.
But happier olives ask nor pains nor care,
When rooted once, they mount into the air,
Nor harrows' teeth, nor arched knives demand,
But self-sustain'd, alone, and vigorous, stand.
If crooked teeth just make her surface loose,
The earth alone the plants supplies with juice;
But if more deep thy ploughs unlock the soil,
From the large berries burst rich floods of oil:
Then ne'er to raise the fruitful olive cease,
The plant of Pallas, and the pledge of peace.
Thus when th'engrafted apples feel their strength,
Their trunks they stretch, and doubled is their length;
While swift they dart into the lofty skies,
Self-nourish'd stand, nor ask from man supplies.
Nor less wild fruits in pathless forests grow;
In haunts of birds what blushing berries glow!
The cytisus of foodful leaves is shorn,
And prudence finds an use in ev'ry thorn.
The pitchy pines afford us heat and light,
To cheat the tedious gloom of wintry night.
And can the swain still doubt, and still forbear,
To plant, to set, and cultivate, with care?
Why sing I trees alone, that loftier rise?
The lowly broom to cattle, browze supplies;
Willows to panting shepherds shade dispense,
To bees their honey, and to corn defence.
What joy to see Cytorus wave with box,
And pines nod awful on Narycium's rocks!
Fields, that ne'er felt or rake or cleaving share,
Wild above art, disdaining human care!

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Ev'n the rough woods on Caucasus so bleak,
Which ever-roaring whirlwinds bend and break,
For shipping pines afford, and useful trees,
For houses, cedars and tall cypresses:
Hence peasants turn their spokes; hence orb their wheels,
Hence find for swift-wing'd vessels, crooked keels;
Elms, foodful leaves; and twigs, the willows bear;
Cornels and myrtles give the martial spear;
The yew obedient to the bender's will,
Forms the strong bows with which the Parthians kill,
And limes and polish'd box confess the carver's skill:
Down Po's swift torrents the light alders glide,
And bees in hollow oaks their honey hide.
What gifts like these can Bacchus' fruits bestow?
To Bacchus crimes and quarrels, mortals owe;
He, the fierce Centaurs, Rhoetus, Pholus slew,
And Hyleûs who enrag'd, a massy goblet threw.
Thrice happy swains! whom genuine pleasures bless,
If they but knew and felt their happiness!
From wars and discord far, and public strife,
Earth with salubrious fruits supports their life:

263

Tho' high-arch'd domes, tho' marble halls they want,
And columns cas'd in gold and elephant,
In awful ranks where brazen statues stand,
The polish'd works of Grecia's skilful hand;
Nor dazzling palace view, whose portals proud
Each morning vomit out the cringing crowd;
Nor wear the tissu'd garment's cumb'rous pride,
Nor seek soft wool in Syrian purple dy'd,
Nor with fantastic luxury defile
The native sweetness of the liquid oil;
Yet calm content, secure from guilty cares,
Yet home-felt pleasure, peace, and rest, are theirs,
Leisure and ease, in groves, and cooling vales,
Grottoes, and bubbling brooks, and darksom dales;
The lowing oxen, and the bleating sheep,
And under branching trees delicious sleep!
There forests, lawns, and haunts of beasts abound,
There youth is temperate, and laborious found;
There altars and the righteous gods are fear'd,
And aged sires by duteous sons rever'd.
There Justice linger'd ere she fled mankind,
And left some traces of her reign behind!
Teach me, ye muses, your devoted priest,
Whose charms with holy raptures fire my breast,
The ways of heav'n, the wandering stars to know,
The radiant sun and moon's eclipses shew,
Whence trembles earth, what force old ocean swells
To burst his bounds, and backward what repells;
Why wintry suns roll down with rapid flight,
And whence delay retards the lingering night.

265

But if my blood's cold streams, that feebly flow,
Forbid my soul great nature's works to know,
Me may the lowly vales, and woodlands please,
And winding rivers, and inglorious ease!
O that I wander'd by Sperchius' flood!
Or on Taygetus' sacred top I stood!
Who, in cool Haemus' vales my limbs will lay,
And in the darkest thicket hide from day!
Happy the man, whose vigorous soul can pierce
Thro' the formation of this universe!
Who nobly dares despise, with soul sedate,
The din of Acheron, and vulgar fears, and fate.
And happy too, tho' humbler, is the man,
Who loves the rural gods, the Nymphs, and Pan:
Nor power, nor purple pomp his thoughts engage,
Nor courts and kings, nor faithless brother's rage,
Nor falls of nations, nor affairs of Rome,
Nor Dacians leagu'd in arms, near rapid Ister's foam;

267

He weeps no wretch's pitiable state,
Nor looks with pining envy on the great:
The loaded trees, the willing fields afford
Unpurchas'd banquets for his temperate board;
The noisy people's rage he never saw,
Nor frauds and cruelties of iron law.
Some brave the tempests of the roaring main,
Or rush to dangers, toils, and blood for gain;
Some ravage lands, or crowded cities burn,
Nor heed how many helpless widows mourn,
To satiate mad ambition's wild desire,
To quaff in gems, or sleep on silks of Tyre:
This, to sollicit smiles of kings resorts,
Deep practis'd in the dark cabals of courts;
This, low in earth conceals his ill-got store,
Hov'ring and brooding on his useless ore;
This, doats with fondness on the rostrum's fame,
To gain the prize of eloquence, his aim:
The people's and patrician's loud applause,
To crowded theatres, another draws;
Some shed a brother's blood, and trembling run
To distant lands, beneath another sun;
Condemn'd in hopeless exile far to roam
From their sweet country, and their sacred home.
The happier peasant yearly ploughs the plains,
His country hence, his houshold hence sustains,
His milky droves, his much-deserving steers;
Each season brings him, in the circling years,
Or blushing apples, or increase of kine,
Or bursts his barns with Ceres' gifts divine:

269

Prest are his Sicion olives in the mills,
His swine with fat'ning mast the forest fills,
In winter wild: and yellow autumn crowns
With various fruits his farms and smiling grounds,
While every rocky mountain's sunny side
The melting grapes with livid ripeness hide.
He feels the father's and the husband's bliss,
His infants climb, and struggle for a kiss;
His modest house strist chastity maintains,
No breach of marriage-vows his nuptials stains;
Fat are the kine, with milk o'erflow his pails,
His kids in sportive battles skim the vales:
The jocund master keeps the solemn days,
To thee, great Bacchus, due libations pays;
Around the chearful hearth unbends his soul,
And crowns amid his friends the flowing bowl;
Distributes prizes to the strong-nerv'd swains,
Who best can dart or wrestle on the plains.
The frugal Sabines thus their acres till'd,
Thus Remus and his brother lov'd the field:
The Tuscans to these arts their greatness owe,
'Twas hence majestic Rome began to grow,
Rome, noblest object of the things below;
Who, while she subject earth with wonder fills,
Hath, single, deck'd with towers her seven hills.
Ere Cretan Jove a scepter sway'd, before
Man dar'd to spill the useful bullock's gore,

271

Such was the peaceful life old Saturn led,
Such was the golden age, from guilt secure and dread!
Ere the loud trumpet sounded dire alarms,
Or impious swords were forg'd, and clattering arms.
But we have pass'd a broad and boundless plain,
'Tis time the smoaking coursers to unrein.
 

Ver. 2. Now thee I sing, O Bacchus.] Instead of coolly proposing the subject he is going to treat of, viz. the cultivation of vines, olives, &c. the poet at once breaks out into a rapturous address to Bacchus; the image contained in the following lines is beautiful and picturesque.

Huc, pater o Lenaee, veni: nudataque musto
Tinge novo mecum direptis crura cothurnis.

We see the god treading the wine-press. Mr. Dryden's translation of this passage is remarkable.

“Come, strip with me, my god, come drench all o'er
“Thy limbs in must of wine, and drink at ev'ry pore.

11. Kind nature trees.] The poet says, wild trees are produced three several ways, spontaneously, by seeds, and by suckers.

22. Greece devoutly paid.] In this, and many other passages, he glances at, and ridicules the superstitions of the Grecians.

24. Cherries.] This kind of fruit had not been brought into Italy many years before Virgil wrote. 'Tis said, Lucullus first introduced them into that country after he had conquered Mithridates.

29. Yet other means.] Having spoken of trees which spontaneously propagate their species, he now proceeds to mention those methods which are used by human industry. These are by suckers, sets, layers, cuttings, pieces of cleft wood, and ingrafting. Martyn.

32. Cross-split or sharpen'd stakes.] There are two ways of planting setters. The quadrifidas sudes (says Mr Benson) is when the bottom is slit across both ways; the acuto robore is when it is cut into a point, which is called the colt's foot.

37. Olive.] It is common in Italy to see old olive-trees, that seem totally dead in the trunk, and yet have very flouing young heads. The same is often as surprizing in old willows; of which I have seen several (and particularly some in the garden island in St. James's Park) which send down a tap-root from their heads through the trunk, that often seems intirely decayed; and so form a young tree on an old stock, which looks as flourishing as the other does rotten. Spence.

47. Ismarus.] Ismarus is a mountain in Thrace; Taburnus in Campania, famous for olives.

61. The trees.] The poet had before mentioned the three ways by which wild trees are produced.—Here he follows the same method, and shews by what culture each sort may be meliorated. Martyn.

80. But quite full grown.] A curious dissertation on the subject of these verses by Mr. Holdsworth was published not long ago, of whom I have heard many able judges declare, that he understood Virgil better than any man living. In my humble opinion, says he, after the general conclusion of planting out,

Scilicet omnibus est labor impendendus; & omnes
Cogendæ in sulcum, ac multâ mercede domnidæ,

And the short remark added, that some trees thrive best, not by the ordinary way of planting, but by layers and truncheons,

Sed truncis oleae melius, &c.

Virgil proceeds next to another sort of planting, still more difficult; and tells us, that not only young plants and truncheons may be removed, but even grown trees. This is methodical, and consistent with what preceded, the transition easy, and the climax just. We continue still in the plantation, but we are led into a part we had seen nothing of before, a grove of some considerable growth, newly planted. And therefore we may observe, all the epithets and decorations, used here to enliven the subject, are suited to trees of an advanced age,

Plantis edurae coryli, &c.

By this interpretation it must appear already, that the epithet ardua, which is another difficulty with Dr Martyn, becomes plain and easy: and indeed it was so far from embarrassing me, that it helped to explain what went before. We advance farther in the plantation, and are shewn, that even the palm too (an exotic) may be transplanted when tall, or in poetic language, be born a tree; and so likewise the fir, when grown fit for a mast.

We may very reasonably imagine, that in Virgil's time, that age of luxury, the great men of Rome transplanted tall trees from woods and nurseries, as is frequently done with us, into their walks and gardens. Maecenas, to whom this book is dedicated, had a garden, we know, on the Esquiline hill, celebrated by Horace and others; and 'tis not improbable, that in order to bring it sooner to perfection, this might be practis'd there, perhaps just at the time when Virgil was writing this Georgic. If so, how artfully does the poet here insinuate, with his usual address, a compliment to his patron? I only hint this as a conjecture; but am more inclin'd to believe, that something of the wilderness part of a garden is intended, by the palm being placed amongst the others; which, tho' a fruit tree in its own country, yet is not improperly put here in the company of forest-trees, because it did not bear fruit, nor was counted a fruit-tree at that time in Italy: as Pliny informs us lib. iii. c. 4. and therefore could be planted only, as the others might, for beauty and ornament to gardens.

Whether Virgil had any such view or not, there can at least be no doubt but that removing tall trees was practis'd among the Romans. We find by Pliny, that the common method of making their arbusta, or plantations for supporting vines, was by planting out elms, when about five years old, or about twenty foot high: lib. xvii. c. 11. And the fir, mention'd above, which Pliny tells us had so deep a root, must certainly have been a tall tree, and yet, he says, was removed. As to the palm, tho' it did not arrive to such perfection in Italy, as to bear fruit, yet we find it was common there; and a tree which not only would bear removing, but thrive the better for it.

And to put this matter about removing tall trees beyond dispute, Virgil himself confirms it in another place, and makes his Corycius Senex put it in practice, Georg. iv. 144, &c.

Ille etiam seras in versum distulit ulmos,
Eduramque pirum, & spinos jam pruna ferentes,
Jamque ministrantem platanum potantibus umbras.

'Tis true, most of the commentators and translators seem not to have rightly apprehended the meaning of this passage, as Dr. Martyn observes, and thereby have lost much of its spirit. But since he has render'd it justly, and given it its full force, I doubt not, but when he compares the expressions of both passages together, he will more easily agree to my interpretation; and will be surpriz'd, as indeed I am, how it before

Inseritur vero ex foetu nucis arbutus horrida,
Et steriles platani malos gessere valentes:
Castaneae fagos, ornusque incanuit albo
Flore pyri, glandemque sues fregere sub ulmis.

Mr. Holdsworth observes, that Virgil had before spoken of grafting in the common method, from ver. 32 to 34.

Et saepe alterius ramos impune videmus
Vertere in alterius, mutatamque insita mala
Ferre pyrum, et prunis lapidosa rubescere corna.

As he there grafts only kernel fruit on kernel, and stone on stone, he shews plainly, that he understood what was the common method, and conforms to it. Again, from ver. 49. to 51. under the articles of improvements, he observes, that chance-plants, which are naturally wild, may be civilized by grafting, as crabs, sloes, or wild plums, &c.

------ Tamen haec quoque si qui
Inserat, aut scrobibus mandet mutata subactis,
Exuerint sylvestrem animum.

Having thus sufficiently mentioned this practice, and there being no necessity to repeat it as he endeavours to be as concise as possible; he proceeds in the next place to tell us, that trees of different kinds may likewise be grafted on each other. And as he had before shew'd, in the four preceding verses, what art could do in transplanting tall trees; he advances here to shew what may likewise be done by the help of art in grafting, viz. that any cion may be ingrafted on any stock. All the translators have mistaken this passage: and I am indebted to Mr. Holdsworth for his clearing it up.

114. Psythia.] Passum is a wine made from raisins, or dried grapes, common both in Italy and the south of France. But the grapes are only hung up to dry, and not squeezed into barrels like our common raisins.

126. Libations.] Among the Romans the first course consisted of flesh, and the second of fruit, at which they poured out wine to offer to the gods, called a Libation. See Arbuthnot on Coins, &c.

127. Plumpest.] Bumastus is the very large red sort of grapes, that they give you so perpetually in their deserts in Italy: and particularly at Florence. It has its name from its shape, each grape being like the teat of a cow; Varro half latinises the word, where he calls it bumamma. Holdsworth.

154. Median fields.] Virgil here gives a very high character of this tree, both for its beauty and usefulness: I take it that he means orange-trees, which were brought first into Italy from Media in his time. As the orange-tree was not yet generally known in Italy, he describes it by its likeness to a tree, well known there, the laurel-tree. The leaves, says he, resemble the leaves of that; but have a finer and more diffused smell and it is almost always beautify'd with flowers. Pliny (Nat Hist. lib. xii. c. 3.) calls the orange-tree malus Medica, and his account of it agrees extremely with this in Virgil. Holdsworth.

166. Media's groves.] We are now come to his most beautiful praises of Italy; nor is it easy to determine which is greatest, the poet's skill, or the patriot's love of his country, He glances at Greece with some ironical sarcasms, in several parts of this passage; particularly he seems to laugh at some of their absurd stories: in these lines,

Haec loca non tauri spirantes naribus ignem
Invertere, satis immanis dentibus hydri,

he alludes to the famous story of Jason. Mr. Thomson has finely imitated these praises of Italy in his Seasons, where he celebrates Great Britain. See his Summer.

181. Clitumnus.] Now called Clitumno; it rises a little below the village of Campello in Ombria. The inhabitants near this river still retain a notion, that its waters are attended with a supernatural property, imagining that it makes the cattle white that drink of it; a quality for which it is likewise celebrated by many of the Latin poets. See Melmoth's Pliny, p. 455.

196. With towns—cliffs.] Among other instances of the happiness of Italy, Virgil mentions its having so many towns built on craggy rocks and hills. There were more formerly, and are several still. In the road from Rome to Naples, you see no less than four in one view, from the hill on which Piperno now stands; reckoning that for one of them. These were very useful, of old, for defence, among such a fighting race of people: and are so still for their coolness, in so hot a climate, that they are generally forced to drive their flocks of sheep up upon the mountains for the summer-season, as they usually feed them in the sheltered plains by the sea-side in the winter. Holdsworth and Spence.

198. Ocean.] Italy is washed on the north side by the Adriatic sea, or gulph of Venice, which is called mare superum, or the upper sea; and on the south side by the Tyrrhene or Tuscan sea, which is called mare inferum, or the lower sea. The Larius is a great lake at the foot of the Alps in the Milanese, now called, Lago di Como. The Benacus is another great lake in the Veronese, now called Lago di Garda; out of which flows the Mincius, on the banks of which our poet was born. Lucrinus and Avernus are two lakes of Campania; the former of which was almost wholly destroyed by an earthquake, but the latter is still remaining, and now called Lago d' Averno.

214 The Scipios.] The elder Scipio delivered his country from the invasion of Hannibal, by transferring the war into Africa; where he subdued the Carthaginians, imposed a tribute upon them, and took hostages. Hence he had the surname of Africanus, and the honour of a triumph. The younger Scipio triumphed for the conclusion of the third Punic war, by the total destruction of Carthage. Hence they were called the thunderbolts of war—duo fulminæ belli Scipiades. Aen. 6. Virgil borrows the expression, from Lucretius, Scipiades belli fulmen.

218. All hail.] The conclusion of Pliny's natural history bears a very near resemblance to this passage, and is very beautiful. Ergo in toto orbe et quacunque coeli convexitas vergit, pulcherrima est omnium, rebusque merito principatum obtinens, Italia, rectrix parensque mundi altera; viris, foeminis, ducibus, militibus, servitiis, artium praestantiâ, ingeniorum claritatibus, jam situ ac salubritate coeli atque temperie, accessu cunctarum gentium facili, littoribus portuosis, benigno ventorum afflatu. The whole passage is worth the reader's perusal.

272. Roremque ministrat.] Ros does not in this place signify dew, as Dryden translates it, but rosemary. Virgil says that the dry hungry soil (now under consideration) is of so barren a nature, that not even those common plants, casia and rosemary, will grow in it. Dr. Martyn has proved the casia here mentioned not to be the celebrated aromatic casia, but a very vulgar herb. Perhaps the epithet humiles, in this place, ought to be construed mean or insignificant, rather than low of growth.

288. Dense.] Densa signifies such a soil, as will not easily admit the rain, is easily crack'd, and apt to gape, and so let in the sun to the root of the vines, and in a manner to strangle the young plants. This therefore must be a hard or stiff soil; rara, lets the showers quite through, and is apt to be dry'd up with the sun. Therefore this must be a loose soil. See Dr. Martyn, who grounds this interpretation on Julius Graecinus, as he is quoted by Columella.

289. Chuse.] It is extremely difficult to make this experiment, which is told with great dignity in the Latin, read gracefully and agreeably in a translation.

309. Bitter.] Amrora is in the style of Lucretius, and the true reading; tho' many read amaro, making it agree with sensû. Servius.

327.] Columella says the trenches should be dug a year beforehand. Mr. Holdsworth used to say, that Columella's treatise on husbandry was by much the best comment on Virgil's Georgics, that he knew of. Spence.

327. Two soils.] Having explained the several sorts of soil, says Martyn, he proceeds to give some instructions concerning the planting of vines: and speaks of the trenches to be made to receive the plants out of the nursery; of taking care that the nursery and the vineyards should have a like soil, and that the plants should be set with the same aspect which they had in the nursery.

346. As in just ranks.] Virgil, says Dr. Martyn, does not mean the form of a Quincunx in this description, but that you should plant your vines in a square in the following order:

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As Virgil compares the disposition of the trees in a vineyard, to an army drawn up in battle array, 'tis evident that he must mean this figure. The Romans usually allowed three foot square for every common soldier to manage his arms, that is, six foot between each, which is a proper distance for the vines in Italy, according to Columella, who says the rows should not be wider than ten feet, nor nearer than four.

349. And earth reflects.] Aere renidenti tellus, says the original. This expression is borrow'd from Lucretius's, aere renidescit tellus. The shining beauties of the clusters of the vines (says Dr. Martyn) is finely represented by the splendor of the brazen arms. I beg for once to dissent from this learned gentleman, and to observe, that this part of the comparison seems too minute, and too much like an Italian conceit, for Virgil to have thought of.

370. To the west decline.] 'Tis worth observing that the poet has brought together here, more precepts than in any part of all the Georgics; but it is likewise remarkable, that he has placed them very artfully betwixt that fine passage just mentioned, and another equally beautiful. Benson.

376. Falls a spark.] This fine description of a fire raging among the vines and their supporters, judiciously relieves the dryness of the Didactic lines preceding.

394. In spring.] There are few passages in the Georgics more charming than this description of spring. He strives hard to excell Lucretius, but I am afraid it cannot be said that he has done it. The conjugis in gremium is evidently taken from

In gremium matris terraï praec pativit.

And the following lines of the same writer, to whom Virgil is indeed infinitely obliged, are very fine; he is likewise speaking of the genial influence of the spring:

Hinc laetas urbes pueris florere videmus
Frondiferasque novis avibus canere undique sylvas.
Hinc fessae pecudes pingues per pabula laeta
Corpora deponunt, & candens lacteus humor
Uberibus manat distentis; hinc nova proles
Artibus infirmis teneras lasciva per herbas
Ludit lacte mero, mentes percussa novellas.

404.] This ascribing boldness and fear to trees is highly poetical.

415. Stars.] This seems to be oddly put together at first sight. The forests were stock'd with beasts, and the heavens with constellations. It was not so in those times, when the constellations were generally considered as real animals, and many of them as men, but most of them as beasts. The prologue to Plautus his Rudens is spoken by Arcturus, as one of the Dramatis Personae. Spence.

422. Pebbles hide.] Mr. Evelyn mentions the placing potsheards, pebbles, or flints near the root of the stem; but then he adds, remember you remove them after a competent time, else the vermin, snails and insects which they produce and shelter, will gnaw and greatly injure their bark; and therefore to lay a coat of moist rotten litter with a little earth upon it, will preserve it moist in summer, and warm in winter, enriching the showers and dews that strain thro' it. Evelyn of Forest Trees.

436. Assisted thus.] The word tabulata in the original signifies the branches of elms extended at proper distances to sustain the vines. See Martyn.

440. Dart into the air.] The original says, laxis per purum immissus habenis; this expression is doubtless extremely bold and strong, but the poet had the authority of his master Lucretius.

Crescendi magnum immissis certamen habenis.

460. Hence on the lofty stage.] The ancient theatre was a semicircular building, appropriated to the acting of plays, the name being derived from θεαομαι to behold. It was divided into the following parts. 1. The porticus, scalae, sedilia; the rows of sedilia, or seats, were called cunei, because they were formed like wedges, growing narrower, as they came nearer the center of the theatre; and these were all disposed about the circumference of the theatre. 2. The orchestra, so called from ορχειαι to dance: it was the inner part, or centre of the theatre, and the lowest of all, and hollow, whence the whole open space of the theatre was called cavea. Here sat the senators, and here were the dancers and musick. 3. The proscenium, which was a place drawn from one horn of the theatre to the other, between the orchestra and the scene, being higher than the orchestra, and lower than the scene: here the comic and tragic actors spoke and acted upon an elevated place, which was called the pulpitum, or stage. 4. The scene was the opposite part to the audience, decorated with pictures and columns, and originally with trees, to shade the actors, when they performed in the open air. 5. Proscenium, or part behind the scenes. Ruaeus.

473. The god.] Virgil speaks of some little heads of Bacchus, which the countrymen of old hung up on trees, that the face might turn every way; out of a notion that the regards of this god gave felicity to their vineyards: and Ovid mentions Bacchus's turning his face towards him, as a blessing. The former, in a passage, which is not very easy to be understood of itself; and for the full understanding of which, I was obliged to a gem in the Great Duke's collection at Florence. Virgil on this occasion says, that there is plenty where ever this god turns his beautiful face. Mr. Dryden, in his translation of the words, seems to have borrowed his idea of Bacchus from the vulgar representation of him on our sign-posts, and so calls it, [in downright English] Bacchus's honest face. Polymetis, page 130.

502. At the last rank.] Mr. Benson complains, that he could not find that the word antes in the original, was used by any other Roman writer, and says, that he did not know what to make of it. It undoubtedly signifies ranks or files, and is a metaphor taken from the army. For Cato de Re Militari, says, pedites quatuor agminibus, equites duobus antibus duces.

541. Elms, foodful leaves.] The use of the very leaves of this tree, especially of the female, is not to be despised; for being suffered to dry in the sun upon the branches, and the spray stripped off about the decrease in August (as also where the suckers and stolones are supernumerary, and hinder the thriving of their nurses) they will prove a great relief to cattle in winter, and scorching summers; when hay and fodder is dear they will eat them before oats, and thrive exceedingly well with them. Evelyn.

550. The fierce Centaurs.] This happened at the nuptials of Pirithous, king of the Lapithæ, where a Centaur aided by his brethren, attempted to ravish his bride Hippodamia.

552. Thrice happy swains.] The following description of the pleasures of a country life is celebrated almost to a proverb; it affords the highest ideas of Virgil's uncorrupt mind, as well as of his poetry. He has assembled here all the most striking and beautiful objects of nature. No contrast was ever worked up more strongly, than this between the city and country life.

553. Felt their happiness.] Sua si bona norint, is a tender reproach to the Romans for their insensibility of being delivered, a discordibus armis, and restored to the quiet enjoyment of their possessions. Benson.

556. Tho' high-arch'd domes.] Virgil hath so evidently taken the very turn and manner of expression in these lines from a passage in his master Lucretius (Book 2.) that I cannot forbear inserting it; and shall leave the reader to judge which of the two is most beautiful.

Si non aurea sunt juvenum simulacra per aedes,
Lampadas igniferas manibus retinentia dextris,
Lumina nocturnis epulis ut suppeditentur;
Nec domus argento fulget, auroque renidet:
Attamen inter se prostrati in gramine molli
Propter aquae rivum, sub ramis arboris altae,
Non magnis opibus jucunde corpora curant.

580. Me may the lowly vales.] Cowley observes upon this passage, that the first wish of Virgil was to be a good philosopher; the second, a good husbandman; and God, whom he seemed to understand better than most of the learned heathens, dealt with him just as he did with Solomon; because he prayed for wisdom in the first place, he added all things else which were subordinately to be desired. He made him one of the best philosophers, and the best husbandman; and to adorn and communicate both those faculties, the best poet: he made him besides all this a rich man, and a man who desired to be no richer.

590. O that I wander'd.] O ubi campi, &c. It cannot possibly be the poet's enquiry where these places are situated, tho' most of the translators take it so; but it is an ardent wish to be placed in such delightful retreats. Catrou, and the learned M. Huet, bishop of Avranches, read O ubi Tempe, instead of campi, which is most consistent with the passage.

These noble lines are undoubtedly a compliment to Lucretius, whose system must lead him to despise the fears of death and hell: how strongly and poetically is the latter particular expressed by the roaring (din or noise) of the infernal river Acheron.

592. Haemus.] The very best of the Roman poets copied so much after the Greeks, that they sometimes give us ideas of things, that would be proper enough for a Greek, but sound quite improper from a Roman. Virgil's and Horace's instancing Thrace, as so very cold a country, is a strong proof of this.—Thrace was full north of Greece, and some of the Greeks therefore might talk of the coldness of that country as strongly, perhaps, as some among us talk of the coldness of Scotland. The Roman writers speak just in the same stile of the coldness of Thrace, tho' a considerable part of Italy lay in as northern a latitude, and some of it even farther north than Thrace. Spence.

604. He weeps no wretch's.] The meaning of nec doluit miserans inopem is not, that he looks on distress and misery with a stoical apathy and indifference, but that there is no body in the country (so happy are they) to be pitied. Mr. Benson and Dr. Trapp.

608. The noisy people's rage.] The tabularium in the original was the place where the publick records were kept at Rome. It was in the temple of Liberty. Catrou.

615. To quaff in gems.] The Romans carried luxury so far, as to procure large drinking cups made of one intire gem. See instances of this kind in Pliny's natural history. Pocula myrrhina were common among them. Tyre was anciently called Sarra, hence Sarrano ostro.

641. His infants.] Pendent circum oscula, hang about his kisses, is an image most poetical and well expressed; but would not bear a literal translation. The passage in Lucretius, from whom this is imitated, has an image still more tender and natural.—He says,—nec dulces occurunt oscula nati praeripere,—which last word, representing the children running out to meet their father, and striving which shall have the first kiss is very beautiful.

652. The frugal Sabines.] To raise the praises of the country life still higher, he tells us, that this was the life their glorious ancestors, and the first founders of their city were so fond of. Virum bonum cum laudabant, ita laudabant bonum agricolam bonum colonum. Amplissimè laudari existimabatur qui ita laudabatur, says the venerable old Cato.

654. Tuscans.] He mentions Etruria in compliment to Maecenas, who was descended from the ancient kings of Tuscany. Tyrrhena regum progenies, &c. Hor.

660. Useful bullock's gore.] Varro informs us, that in ancient times it was deemed a capital crime to kill an ox; Hic socius hominum in rustico opere, et Cereris minister. Ab hoc, antiqui manus ita abstineri voluerunt, ut capite sanxerit, si quis occidisset. I could not forbear quoting this passage for its great humanity.


273

BOOK III.

Thy praise, propitious Pales, next we sing,
With thee fam'd shepherd of Amphrysus' spring;
Ye too, Lycaeus' groves, and gushing streams,
For vain are trivial tales, and vulgar themes;
Familiar all the songs that once cou'd please,
Busiris' shrines, Eurystheus' dire decrees.
Can Dian's isle or Hylas longer charm?
Or Pelops famous for his ivory arm,
Whose steeds victorious in the dusty race
Won him the fair Hippodame's embrace?

275

I too must find a path untrod before,
And far from groveling earth, to fame sublimely soar.
I first of Romans to th'Hesperian plain,
Will lead th'Aönian nymphs, if life remain:
E'n here Idumes' beauteous palms shall rise,
Exchange their soil, and bloom in Mantuan skies.
These hands a fane of Parian stone shall build,
Where Mincio's stream bedews the verdant field;
And spreading wide his ling'ring waters, feeds
Around his winding shores the tender reeds;

277

In the mid dome shall Caesar's form divine
Superior stand, the godhead of the shrine.
Mean time myself to grace the solemn feast,
Chief of the sports, in Tyrian purple drest,

279

Will lash an hundred cars, like chiefs of yore,
By four-yok'd horses whirl'd along the sounding shore.
Greece shall forsake her seats of ancient fame,
To try on Roman ground, th'heroic game;

281

With manly arm the weighty gauntlet wield,
Or lightly skim with winged feet the field.
While I, my brows with olive-chaplet bound,
The meed of each victorious toil propound.
Ev'n now I seem the stately pomp to lead,
Now, now, beneath my steel the victims bleed:

283

I see the turning scene swift change its face,
The pictur'd Britons in the curtains trace,
Which seem to lift the tapestry they grace.

285

High on the gates, the fell Gangarian fight
In gold and ivory wrought, shall strike the sight.
Here swoln with war, majestic Nile shall pass,
And the tall columns rise in naval brass:
Prostrate in dust, there Asia's cities weep,
And huge Niphates bend his mountain steep;
The Parthians there the backward arrow ply,
Fight in retreat, and conquer as they fly:
Caesar shall here a double triumph boast,
And conquer'd nations kneel from either coast.
Around in order'd ranks an awful band,
Rome's ancestors in breathing stone shall stand:
Thy seed, Assaracus, the mighty line
That drew from Jove its origin divine:
Next Tros, whom Troy her ancient father calls,
With him, the god who rais'd her lofty walls.
Envy, foul fiend, shall view with baleful eyes
Cocytus' billows black around her rise;
The stings of mad Ixion's snakes shall feel,
Quake at th'unconquer'd stone, and ever-whirling wheel.
Mean time, Maecenas, we'll the woods pursue;
Nor light this arduous task enjoyn'd by you.
Without thine aid no fancy fires my breast;
Haste, let us burst the bands of idle rest.

287

Hark, from afar Cythaeron's voice I hear,
Taygetus' opening dogs my spirits chear;
With neighing steeds tall Epidaure resounds;
From the deep groves the doubling din rebounds.
The time may come, when my maturer muse
Augustus' glowing fights her theme shall chuse:
And thro' more ages bid his glory last,
Than have from Tithon's birth to Caesar past.
The youth, who studious of th'Olympic meed,
And fond of fame, would rear the stately steed;
Or bend the sturdy bullock to the share,
Must chuse the dam with nice sagacious care.
First, by these marks select thy mother-cow,

75. A clumsy head.] Varro and Columella say that a good cow's head should be large, latis frontibus, her neck long and broad, her dew-laps hanging low, and in general, that her body should be long and large. Ut sint bene compositae, ut integris membris oblongae, amplae—corpore amplo, bene costatos, largis humeris, bonis clunibus.—Virgil seems to have had his eye on this passage. Varro likewise mentions the length of tail.

A clumsy head, broad neck, and lowering brow:

Her double dew-laps from her chin must rise,
In spacious folds descending o'er her thighs:
Be her's a disproportion'd length of side,
Her limbs all fram'd with vast unwieldy pride:
Let tufts of hair her ample feet adorn,
Rough be her ear, and wreath'd her bending horn:
Nor less her worth, if o'er her jetty skin,
Few random spots of snowy white be seen;
Or if she aim a blow, or spurn the yoke,
Or wear a stern-brow'd bull's rough threatening look.
Majestic she must walk with lofty mien,
And proudly sweep with length of tail the green.
When now four years have steel'd her lusty frame,
Then let her prove kind Hymen's mutual flame:
At ten release her; now no more to prove
The toils of culture, or the joys of love.
Mean time, while warmth of youthful blood prevails,
To the soft bliss admit thy sprightly males:

289

Let their first vigour try the fierce embrace;
So herds shall rise on herds, and race on race.
The days of youth advance with double speed,
Too soon the pains of dire disease succeed;
Unnumber'd toils approach, and helpless age,
And cruel death's inexorable rage.
For fresh supplies thy weary'd cows remove;
Nor place on one alone the weight of love.
Still propagate thy breed with annual care,
And with new births the fleeting race repair.
These rules direct alike to chuse the steed;
And if you wish to rear a generous breed,
Nurse from his earliest youth the chosen sire,
And feed with careful hand his native fire.
Ev'n now the colt treads high with stately pace,
And moves his pliant limbs with easy grace;
Outstrips the rest; the first that dares to brave
The unknown bridge, or tempt the threatning wave:
No sudden sounds alarm his soul with dread;
Sublime his arched neck, and small his head:
Short paunch, and breadth of back his might attest,
And prominent with brawn his fearless breast.
Of colours chuse the dapple or the grey,
For white and dun a dastard race betray.
Lo! when the battle's distant din he hears,
Restless he paws; erects his eager ears;

291

With generous fury glows his quivering frame,
And from his nostril bursts the fierce, collected flame.
O'er his right shoulder his redundant mane
Waves to the zephyr as he skims the plain.
Thro' his broad back shoots a divided spine,
And arms with double force his mighty chine.
While o'er the green as his fleet hoof is borne,
Echoes the trembling ground beneath the solid horn.
Such Cyllarus; by Spartan Pollux tam'd,
And such the steeds, in Grecian story fam'd,
That to the battle bore the god of war,
And whirl'd the fierce Achilles' thund'ring car:
Such Saturn too, when from the guilty bed,
Cloath'd in a flowing mane, his queen he fled,
And pierc'd with neighings shrill hoar Pelion's piny head.
When now his strength and youthful years decay,
With no inglorious ease his pains repay;
But grant him, of thy gratitude, to close
His honour'd age at home in safe repose.
When genial warmth has left his frozen veins,
Love is a toil, and barren are his pains.
In all the rage of impotent desire,
As o'er the stubble flies the catching fire,
His sparks are spent, and in a flash expire.
Be careful then to mark the stallion's age,
His feats, his offspring, and his native rage;
Whether he grieve, when in the race outdone,
Or proudly triumph in the trophy won.
Dost thou not see the car's contending train,
Shoot from the goal, and pour along the plain?
By varying fits, each trembling charioteer,
Now flush'd with hope, now pale with panting fear,

293

Plies the loud lash, hangs headlong o'er the reins;
Swift bounds the fervid axle o'er the plains:
Now deep in dust obscur'd the chariot flies,
Now mounts in air, and gains upon the skies.
The strife runs high, too fierce for dull delay,
The dusty volumes darken all the way:
Bath'd in their followers' foam appear the first:
Such is the love of praise, and glory's eager thirst.
First Erichthonius dar'd with dauntless skill
To yoke four steeds, and guide the victor's rapid wheel.
Thessalia taught the conduct of the bit,
To mount the steed, and form his pliant feet
To paw the ground, to wheel, and turn with grace,
And tread the plain with more majestic pace.
The same the labour and the praise to breed,
Or for the bit or car, the vigorous steed:
In each is requisite a generous rage,
A swiftness in the course, and blooming age.
Without these virtues, vain all former boast,
That erst he chas'd in fight a trembling host;

295

Tho' Argos, or Epirus gave him birth,
Or Neptune's trident-stroke, that op'd the pregnant earth.
These rules observ'd, with fattening plenty feed
The husband of the herd, and father of thy breed:
With genial herbs his amorous heat sustain,
And give the copious stream, and golden grain;
Lest weak he faint amid the soft embrace,
The famish'd father of a puny race.
But to the mares deny thy soft'ning food,
And drive them from the browze and cooling flood,
When now the new desires invade their boiling blood:
Oft bid them glow beneath the sunny ray,
And oft fatigue them thro' the dusty way:
When groan the floors beneath the trampled corn,
And light in air the fluttering chaff is borne;
Lest too luxurious ease and plenty cloy,
Blunt the keen sense, and choak the paths of joy:
So shall the female feel the flowing seed,
And suck with greedy rage the rushing steed.
Enough of males; at length transfer thy care,
From the tall stallion, to the teeming mare.

297

Let her no more, along the lab'ring ground,
Draw the slow car, or leap the rising mound:
Nor tempt the flood, nor skim the level mead,
But turn her lonesome in the lawns to feed,
Soft with the greenest grass, and many a mossy bed:
Where some full river rolls his plenteous waves,
Mid' shades of ridgy rocks, and cooling caves.
Along the forests dark where Selo flows,
And old Alburnus lifts his ilex-crowned brows.
Of winged insects swarms a frequent flight,
Aestron in Greece; at Rome Asilus hight;
Soon as their issuing hosts, with humming sound
Approach, the cattle quit the groves around;
The skies re-echo to the mingling roar,
The groves, and dry Tanager's sultry shore!
This plague, the just revenge of guilty love,
To frantic rage th'Inachian heifer drove.
More thick they swarm, when glows the noon-tide heat,
Then shift thy pregnant herd to some sequester'd seat;
Or drive them forth, when dawns the purple light,
Or Hesper gilds with glittering stars the night.
When now the dam has felt Lucina's pains,
A farther care to rear the calf remains;
On each, betimes, imprint the branding fire,
To note the name, the lineage, and the sire.
Let this be doom'd to propagate the breed;
This at the sacred shrine a victim bleed:
But that be destin'd in the field to toil,
Break the stiff clods, and cleave the stubborn soil;
And let thy unmark'd herds, as leisure leads,
Wanton, inglorious, o'er the grassy meads.

299

The steers allotted to the shining share,
Observe to teach and tame with timely care;
While now their tender years correction bear.
Bind them with collars from the tender spray,
And when their necks the servile band obey,
Connect two well-match'd bullocks in the trace,
And bid them learn in pairs the plain to pace.
Oft let them draw the waggon's empty load,
Whose wheels scarce print the dust, or mark the road:
Next let them smoke beneath th'incumbent mass,
Join'd to the beechen axle, bound with brass.
Mean time thy unyok'd young not only feed
With grass and willow-leaves, or marshy weed;
But crop with careful hand the nodding ears;
Nor let the dam (as erst in ancient years)
Contribute to the pail her milky load;
Be all her udder on her calf bestow'd.
But if thy bosom burn in ranks of war
To lead the marshall'd host, or urge the car,
Where strays thro' Pisa's plain th'Alphaean flood,
Or whirl along the thund'rer's echoing wood
To trumpets shrill, to many a martial deed,
And glare of glittering arms inure the steed:
Oft let him toil the slow car's load to bear,
The rustling reins oft rattle in his ear:
With flattery sooth him, while with conscious pride,
He feels his master clap his sounding side.
Begin betimes; while weak and youthful yet,
Bend his soft mouth to brook a slender bit;
Just wean'd and trembling from his mother's side;
New to the curb, and in the course untry'd.

301

But when to four full springs his years advance,
Teach him to run the ring, with pride to prance;
The plain in measur'd steps and time to beat,
And in alternate paces shift his feet.
Oft let him seem to spring with labour'd might;
And challenge whirlwinds in his airy flight:
While as he pours abroad with loosen'd reins,
His lightsome feet scarce touch the printless plains.
Like Boreas in his course, when rushing forth
He calms the Scythian skies, and clears the cloudy north:
Resound the tall tops of the trembling trees,
The heavy harvests nod beneath the breeze:
O'er plains, o'er seas, the driving tempest sweeps,
And to the founding shore pursues the boiling deeps.
A steed like this, with conquering steps will strain,
And foam with blood across th'Elean plain;
Or with obedient neck the Belgic car sustain.
When now the colt is broke to bear command,
Feed him with kindly care, and plenteous hand:
While yet untam'd, his pamper'd pride disdains
To feel the sounding lash, and galling reins.
To keep thy bulls or steeds of strength entire,
Restrain them from the stings of blind desire.
Banish thy bulls to some far lonely scene,
Where vast rocks, and wide rivers intervene:
Or to the plenteous stall the beast remove,
Far from the tender sex, and lure of love.

303

For while the female charms his sickening sight,
No more the groves, or springing grass invite.
She vers'd in wanton looks, and winning wiles,
The mighty rivals to the fight beguiles.
The beauteous heifer strays the darksom wood;
With mutual rage they rush; thick streams the sable blood;
From their broad brows the clashing horns rebound,
With bellowings loud the groves and skies resound.
Nor when the war is o'er, their rage expires,
To distant vales the vanquish'd wretch retires;
Weeps his disgrace, his conqu'ring rivals boast,
Yet more the fair, that unreveng'd he lost:
And oft with pensive looks, as he retreats,
The parting exile views his ancient seats.
Then steels his limbs to toil, improves his might,
And roughly rests on craggy flints the night:
On prickly leaves and pointed rushes fed,
He feigns to gore a tree with butting head,
Bends his stern brows and pushes at the air,
And spurns the scatter'd sand, a prelude of the war.
Then when his nerves with new-felt fury glow,
Headlong he seeks his unexpecting foe.
As when a rising billow by degrees,
Begins to boil amid the whitening seas;
Loud o'er the rocks it rolls with horrid roar,
And mountain-like bursts on the subject shore:
The troubled depths in circling eddies rise,
And heave the sable sand in whirlwinds to the skies.

305

Thus man and beast, the tenants of the flood,
The herds that graze the plain, the feathery brood,
Rush into love, and feel the general flame;
For love is lord of all, and is in all the same.
'Tis with this rage the mother lion stung,
Prowls o'er the plain, regardless of her young.
'Tis then the shapeless bear with scenes of blood,
With murderous deeds pollutes th'affrighted wood:
Then boars in fight with double warmth engage,
And the grim tygress calls forth all her rage.
Ah! wretched then the traveller who strays
Forlorn o'er Lybia's unfrequented ways!
See, what thick pants the stallion's fires declare,
Whene'er in tainted gales he scents the mare:
Nor curbs, nor torturing whips his rage restrain,
And mountains rise to check his flight in vain;
In vain the torrent rolls, that tumbling sweeps
The massy fragment from the craggy steeps.
Rushes the Sabine boar, and rends the ground,
And whets his tusks to strike the surer wound:
Rubs his rough sides against th'accustom'd oak,
And disciplines his brawn to bear the rival's stroke.
How fares the youth, who feels the pleasing pain?
His marrow pierce, and throb in every vein?
Above from heaven's high gate the thunder roars,
The dashing waves re-echo round the shores.
Nor weeping parents, nor the fated fair
Retards his course, too soon his cruel death to share!
Why should I sing how hungry wolves engage,
How beasts of Bacchus' car, how mastiffs rage:
Ev'n timorous stags provoke the woodland war;
But far above the rest the passion of the mare.

307

Ev'n Venus here a stronger lust inspir'd,
When to revenge the Potnian mares she fir'd.
Wing'd with desire they bound o'er Gargarus' height,
Nor loud Ascanius' torrents stay their flight.
When now their veins the vernal mildness warms,
And with kind heat their lusty limbs informs;
To the tall cliffs impatient they repair,
And from the westward snuff the fleeting air:
Where (wonderous power!) without th'assisting steed,
Made pregnant by the parent-breeze they breed.
Thence wild o'er rocks and deep-sunk vallies stray,
Far from the northern blast, or source of day;
Or whence wet Auster's gloomy damps arise
To hang with sable clouds the sadden'd skies.
Hence from their wombs, what th'artless shepherd calls
Hippomanes, a trickling poison falls:
Which baleful step-dames in the bowl infuse,
With many murmurs mix'd, and herbs of magic juice.
But time is on the wing; too far we rove
Bewilder'd in the pleasing paths of love.
Enough of herds: new labours now succeed,
The shaggy goats and fleecy flocks to feed.
Hence shall the husbandman new trophies raise,
While his low cares I lift in labour'd lays:
Nor slight, to grace so mean a theme, the toil,
And beautify with flow'rs a barren soil.
But me the sweet desire of sacred praise
Leads forth to trace Parnassus' pathless ways,

309

Down to Castalia's spring my car to guide,
Where never poet mark'd the mountain's side.
Now, mighty Pales, I resound thy reign,
(O grant thine aid) in more majestic strain.
First let thy sheep, beneath the fostering shed,
Till verdant spring returns, with grass be fed:
Strew fern beneath, lest from the piercing ice
O'er their soft skins the loathsome scabs arise.
Nor less, thy goats with leafy fodder fill,
And give them water recent from the rill.
Safe from the stormy north, their stalls prepare
To catch the wintry sun, and southern air:
When cold Aquarius, from his cloudy sphere,
Pours his last drops upon the parting year.
Nor less the toil the shaggy goat to raise,
Nor less the profit that the goat repays.
Let Caria boast her Tyrian-tinctur'd fleece;
Yet these afford more numerous increase.
And, as their swelling dugs you drain the more,
In fuller plenty streams the milky store.
Besides, their hairy beards the shepherds shear,
To cover tents, or cloath the mariner.
At will they graze Lycaeus' shrubby top,
And the rough thorn or prickly bramble crop;
Return untended with their bleating train,
And o'er the threshold scarce their strutting dugs sustain.

311

Since then so little of thy care they know,
Guard them from freezing blasts, and icy snow:
Gladly supply them with the leafy spray,
Nor in bleak winter's reign refuse thy hoarded hay.
But when the frolic zephyrs breathe the spring,
Both flocks to graze the verdant pastures bring.
When now the morning-star but dimly dawns,
Lead them to taste the coolness of the lawns:
When hoar with virgin dew the grass appears,
Haste, let them drink the morning's earliest tears.
But when the sun glows hot with parching ray,
And woods resound the shrill cicada's lay:
Then drive them to fresh springs, their thirst to slake;
To troughs of oak, or to the spreading lake.
But at mid-noon, to green and gloomy glades;
Where some tall oak uprears his aged shades:
Or where the ilex-forest, dark and deep,
Sheds holy horrors o'er the hanging steep.
Again refresh them, with their verdant food,
When sinks the sun, and with the crystal flood,
When evening-airs their cooling damps diffuse,
And Cynthia bathes the groves in balmy dews;
When thro' the brakes is heard th'acanthis' song,
And halcyons chaunt the hollow shores among.
Why should I sing of Lybia's artless swains;
Her scattered cottages, and trackless plains?

313

By day, by night, without a destin'd home,
For many a month their flocks all lonely roam;
So vast th'unbounded solitude appears.—
While, with his flock, his all the shepherd bears:
His arms, his houshold gods, his homely shed,
His Cretan darts and dogs of Sparta, bred.
So Rome's brave sons, beneath th'oppressive load
Of arms and baggage, trace the destin'd road;
And while he ne'er suspects th'impending blow,
Sudden unfurl their standards on the foe.
Not so in Scythia shepherds tend their sheep;
Where sad Moeotis spreads his sable deep:
Thick yellow sands where Ister's torrents roll,
And Rhodope returns to meet the pole.
Their flocks they stall; for o'er th'unfruitful scene,
Nor fields, nor trees are cloath'd in lively green.
One waste of snow the joyless landscape lies,
Seven ells in height the ridgy drifts arise.
There still the bitter blasts of winter dwell;
Nor the sun's rays the paly shade dispel,
Or when he climbs his noon-tide course, or laves
His headlong car in ocean's purple waves.

315

Th'encroaching ice the loitering current feels,
And on its bosom bears the studded wheels.
Where erst the stately bark was wont to ride,
Waggons, thro' paths unknown, securely glide.
Oft from the vessel bursts the brazen band,
Stiff round their sides their frozen garments stand.
With sharpen'd steel they cleave the humid wine,
And chains of solid ice whole lakes confine;
Their matted beards, by the keen climate frore,
With hanging icicles are hard and hoar.
Mean time the skies are dim with falling snows;
Thick clouds of sleet th'unwieldy ox enclose:
In growing heaps benumb'd, the crouding deer
Scarce from beneath, their branching antlers rear:
Nor them with hounds the hunter-train surprize,
With nets, or feathers dipt in purple dies;
But with the sword invade them, while in vain
Against the huge reluctant load they strain,
While void of help, in piteous sounds they bray;
Then home, with shouts of triumph, bear the prey.
In caverns deep with oaks uppil'd, they raise,
And many a branching elm, the crackling blaze;
From cold secure, around the flaming hearth,
Waste the long dreary night in social mirth:
Unblest with wine, the goblet still goes round,
With Ceres' juice, and sparkling cyder crown'd.

317

Such is the race of savage swains that lie
Beneath the rigours of the polar sky;
And sore afflicted by the piercing east,
Their limbs with furs and brinded skins invest.
Is wool thy care? avoid the shaggy ground,
Where thistles and the prickly bur abound.
Nor let too fat a soil thy choice invite;
Chuse first a flock with fleeces soft and white.
Tho' white thy ram, yet if a swarthy tongue
Appears beneath his humid palate hung,
Reject him, lest he blacken all the breed,
And let another to the task succeed.
Thus by a snowy fleece, th'Arcadian god
Drew down pale Cynthia from her bright abode;
Nor did'st thou, queen of night disdain his love,
Pleas'd with the cheat, thou met'st him in the grove!
Is milk thy care? with lillies from the brook,
Soft leaves, and salted herbage feed thy flock:
Hence stung with thirst to the clear rills they haste,
Hence are their swelling dugs more tightly brac'd,
While in the milk remains the savoury taste.
Some, when the kids their dams too deeply drain,
Their tender mouths with steely bits restrain.
Their morning-milk the peasants press at night,
Their evening bear to town, when early dawns the light;
Or in the mass, with sparing hand, they pour
The tasteful salt, and keep for winter store.
Nor mean the toil the faithful dog to breed;
With fatt'ning whey the vigorous mastiff feed,
And Sparta's race:—thus, should the thief invade,
Or wolf, thy fold, when night extends her shade;

319

Or roving robber from th'Iberian rocks;
These shall repel their rage, and guard thy flocks:
Thy hound, the wild-ass in the sylvan chace,
Or hare, or hart, with faithful speed will trace;
Assail the muddy cave, with eager cries,
Where the rough boar in sullen ambush lies;
Press the tall stag with clamours echoing shrill,
To secret toils, along th'aërial hill.
Oft in thy stalls let spicy cedar blaze
With galbanum, the serpent-brood to chace.
Beneath th'unshifted sheds, in secret cells
Oft shut from day, the latent mischief dwells:
The viper too that loves a shady seat,
That seeks beneath thy roofs a safe retreat,
Of herds the bane, of sheep the pois'nous pest
Oft broods in secret o'er her darksom nest.
Snatch, shepherd, stones, quick snatch the knotted oak,
And quell his stately crest with many a stroke;
Assail his hissing throat, and swelling spires,
Lo! by degrees his timorous head retires,
And the last orbs of his unfolded tail
A ling'ring length of loosen'd volumes trail.
Calabria's forests breed a baleful snake,
With lofty breast elate, and scaly back,
And with broad spots his winding belly black:
Who when the rivers burst their rocky bounds,
And southern showers bedew the vernal grounds,
Haunts the moist bank, and in the wat'ry bogs
Swells his dire paunch with fish, and croaking frogs:

321

But when keen heat the fens of moisture drains,
And cleaves the glebe, he rages o'er the plains,
While mad with thirst, and fill'd with drear amaze,
At the fierce beam his rolling eye-balls blaze.
May ne'er soft sleep on a green bank, surprize,
Fast by some forest-side, my drooping eyes,
When cast his skin, and sleek in youthful prime,
Recent he rides, before the sun sublime;
Regardless of the nest, deserts his young,
And brandishes and darts his triple-forked tongue.
The causes and the signs shall next be told,
Of dire diseases that infect the fold.
Scabs oft the flock, a foul contagion, seize,
When winter hangs with icicles their fleece;
Or rains have pierc'd, or unwash'd sweats adhere
To their shorn skins, or prickly brambles tear.
Hence in fresh currents of the crystal wave,
With careful hands their flocks the shepherds lave.
While first the father of the bleating crowd,
Floats with his moisten'd fleece along the flood.
Or bathe their limbs in bitter lees of oil,
With bubbles that from molten silver boil;
Live sulphur mix, with tar's black-streaming juice,
Or temper pitch that Ida's pines produce;
Or mingle, fraught with fat, the waxen store,
Or sea-born squills with potent hellebore.
But the best cure which sage experience knows,
Is with a lance the ulcer to disclose.

323

Still grows the sore, while yet the shepherd stands,
Doubtful, nor dares exert his healing hands,
And anxious happier signs of heav'n demands.
But when o'er th'inmost bones the pain hath spread,
On their parcht limbs a raging fever fed,
To quell the bleating sufferer's torrid pain,
Pierce in the bottom-foot the throbbing vein:
This practise the Bisaltae, when they haste
To Rhodope, or roam the Dacian waste:
And fierce Gelonian, when, for savage food,
He blends the milky stream with horse's blood.
If one thou seest affect the cooling shade,
Or cropping listlessly the topmost blade;
Droop on the plain, with ling'ring paces wait
Behind, and home return alone and late;
Soon let thy steel remove th'infected sheep,
Lest o'er th'unwary flock the dire contagion creep.
Less fierce and frequent on the wintry main
Black whirlwinds rush, than plagues that waste the plain:
Nor single deaths suffice, at once they prey
On young and old, and sweep whole herds away.
This truth to know th'aërial Alps behold;
And meads thro' which Timavus' streams are roll'd,
And Noric cliffs with spiry castles crown'd;
Lo! waste and wild the plains appear around,
Ev'n now deserted stands the shepherd's state,
And far and wide the lawns are desolate.

325

Here sprung of old by sickly gales begot,
A plague with all the fires of autumn fraught,
Which slew the beasts that range the field or wood,
Defil'd the freshness of the crystal flood,
And scorch'd with baleful breath the grassy food.
Strange kind of death! for when the parching pain
Had shrunk the limbs, and throbb'd in every vein,
A pois'nous humour flow'd from all the frame,
Till every bone one putrid mass became.
Before the shrine, in snowy fillets drest,
And holy bands, the consecrated beast
Fell, and prevented oft the lingering priest.
Or if he sunk beneath the fatal stroke
Lo! on the shrine, his entrails fail to smoke;
No more, misled by many a doubtful sign,
The prophet can the dark event divine;
While scarce the knife with the red tincture reeks,
Nor the thin gore the sandy surface streaks.
O'er flow'ry meads, or at the plenteous stall,
In lifeless heaps the calves and heifers fall.
The gentle dogs run mad; the sick'ning swine
Pant with thick coughs, with swelling quinsies pine.
The victor horse, forgetful of his food,
The palm renounces, and abhors the flood:

327

By fits, he stamps the ground with eager feet,
While from his body bursts a doubtful sweat;
That stood in icy drops, as death appear'd;
His parch'd hide to the touch is rough and hard.
These signs at first his future fate presage;
But as the spreading pest improv'd its rage,
With sanguine beams fierce glow'd his ardent eyes,
And heav'd his struggling breath with groans and sighs;
Of blood black torrents from his nostrils sprung,
To the swoln palate clove his furry tongue.
Some have at first with short success apply'd,
Pour'd thro' an horn, Lenaeus' purple tide;
But soon fresh fuel to the growing flame
It gave, and death the medicine became:
While, with bare teeth, their limbs all bath'd in gore,
Ev'n in the bitterest dying pangs, they tore.
O crown, ye gods, a pious people's pray'r,
And let the bad alone so dire an error share.
Lo! while he toils the galling yoke beneath,
Foaming black blood, the bullock sinks in death:
The pensive hind the brother-steer relieves,
Who faithful for his lost companion grieves,
And the fix'd share amid the furrow leaves.
Mean time, nor grassy mead, nor lofty grove,
The mournful mate's afflicted mind can move:

329

Nor yet from rocks delicious streams that roll
As amber clear, can sooth his sorrowing soul:
His flanks flow loose; his eyes grow dim and dead;
And low to earth he hangs his heavy head.
Ah! what avails his ceaseless useful toil?
What boots it to have turn'd the stubborn soil?
Yet ne'er choice Massic wines debauch'd his taste,
Ne'er did he riot in the rich repast;
His food is leafy brouze, and nature's grass,
His draught fresh rills that thro' the meadows pass,
Or torrents rushing from the rocky steep;
Nor care disturbs his salutary sleep.
Then cars were drawn, while fail'd th'accustom'd kine,
By ill-pair'd buffaloes, to Juno's shrine.
And men with harrows toil'd to till the plain,
And with their nails dug in the golden grain;
The rattling waggon's galling yoke sustain'd,
And up the rocky steep laborious strain'd.
The wily wolf, no more by hunger bold,
With secret step explores the nightly fold.
Deers herd with hounds, and leave their sylvan seat,
And seek with man to find a safe retreat.
Thick on the shores, like shipwreck'd corses cast,
Appear the finny race of ocean vast;
Th'affrighted Phocae to the rivers haste.
His cave no more to shield the snake avails;
Th'astonish'd hydra dies, erecting all his scales.

331

Ev'n their own skies to birds unfaithful prove,
Headlong they fall, and leave their lives above.
Nor change of pasture could relief impart;
Destructive proves each vain attempt of art:
Chiron, Melampus healing herbs explore,
Fathers of sacred medicine, no more:
Tisiphone, from hell let loose to light,
Before her drives Diseases and Affright;
Still day by day more huge the fiend appears,
Till high to heav'n her horrid head she rears;
While lowings loud, and many a mournful bleat,
The withering banks and hanging hills repeat:
At length whole herds to death at once she sweeps;
High in the stalls she piles the loathsom heaps,
Dire spectacle! till sage experience found
To bury deep the carrion in the ground.
Useless their hides; nor from the flesh the flame
Could purge the filth, nor streams the savour tame.
Nor could their skins supply the fleecy store,
O'ergrown with scabs, and stiff with many a sore:
Wove from such fleeces those who wore a vest,
Were with foul sweats, and burning spots oppress'd,

333

Till thro' the limbs diffus'd, th'insatiate flame
With dire contagious touch consum'd th'infected frame.
The End of the Third Georgic.
 

Ver. 1. Thy praise propitious Pales.] This is the book which appears to me the most charming of all the Georgics. Mr. Addison's favourite is the fourth, which indeed is more sweet and elegant, but the beauties of this are more great and sublime. He invokes Pales as the goddess of shepherds, and Apollo who fed the herds of king Admetus on the banks of the river Amphrysus.

5. Familiar are the songs.] Virgil here strongly ridicules the trite and fabulous subjects of the Grecian poets. 'Tis ingeniously conjectured by Fulvius Ursinus, that he alludes to particular authors who had treated of the fabulous stories he mentions. Thus Homer has related the fable of Eurystheus in the eighteenth Iliad. Athenaeus quotes the Busiris of Mnesimachus in his ninth book. Theocritus and Apollonius relate the story of Hylas and Hercules his grief for his loss. Callimachus is referred to in Latonia Delos, and the first Olympic ode of Pindar is to be understood by the mention of Hippodamia and Pelops. He breaks out at last into a noble triumph of assurance, that he shall rival these Greek poets:

Tentanda via est, qua me quoque possim
Tollere humo, victorque virum volitare per ora.

Mr. Pope used to say, that this triumph of Virgil over the Greek poets, was one of the vainest things that ever was writ.

17. These hands.] Mr. Hurd in his notes on Horace's Epistle to Augustus, hath discoursed so entertainingly on the introductory lines of this third book, that it was thought proper to insert the following extract from that judicious work.

On the idea of the Apotheosis, which was the usual mode of flattery in the Augustan age, but, as having the countenance of public authority, sometimes inartificially enough employed, Virgil hath projected one of the noblest allegories in ancient poetry, and at the same time hath given to it all the force of just compliment, the occasion itself allowed. Each of these excellencies was to be expected from his talents. For as his genius led him to the sublime; so his exquisite judgment would instruct him to palliate this bold fiction, and qualify as much as possible, the shocking adulation, implied in it. So singular a beauty deserves to be shewn at large.

The third Georgic sets out with an apology for the low and simple argument of that work, which yet the poet esteemed, for its novelty, preferable to the sublimer, but trite, themes of the Greek writers. Not but he intended, on some future occasion, to adorn a nobler subject. This was the great plan of the Aeneis, which he now prefigures and unfolds at large. For, taking advantage of the noblest privilege of his art, he breaks away, in a fit of prophetic enthusiasm, to predict his successes in this projected enterprize, and, under the imagery of the antient triumph, which comprehends, or suggests to the imagination, whatever is most august in human affairs, to delineate the future glories of this ambitious design. The whole conception, as we shall see, is of the utmost grandeur and magnificence; tho', according to the usual management of the poet (which as not being apprehended by his critics, hath furnished occasion even to the best of them, to charge him with a want of the sublime) he hath contrived to soften and familiarize its appearance to the reader, by the artful manner, in which it is introduced. It stands thus:

tentanda via est, qua me quoque possim
Tollere humo, victorque virum volitare per ora.

The idea of victory, thus casually dropped, he makes the basis of his imagery; which, by means of this gradual preparation, offers itself easily to the apprehension, though it thereby loses, as the poet designed it should, much of that broad glare, in which writers of less judgment love to shew their ideas, as tending to set the common reader at a gaze. The allegory then proceeds:

Primus ego in patriam mecum (modo vita supersit)
Aonio rediens deducam vertice Musas.

The projected conquest was no less than that of all the Grecian Muses at once; whom, to carry on the decorum of the allegory, he threatens, 1. to force from their high and advantageous situation on the summit of the Aonian Mount; and 2. to bring captive with him into Italy; the former circumstance intimating to us the difficulty and danger of the enterprize; and the latter, his complete execution of it.

The palmy, triumphal entry, which was usual to victors on their return from foreign successes, follows:

Primus Idumaeas referam tibi, Mantua, palmas.

But ancient conquerors did not hold it sufficient to reap this transient fruit of their labours. They were ambitious to consecrate their glory to immortality, by a temple, or other public monument, which was to be built out of the spoils of the conquered cities or countries. This the reader sees is suitable to the idea of the great work proposed; which was, out of the old remains of Grecian art, to compose a new one, that should comprize the virtues of all of them: as, in fact, the Aeneid is known to unite in itself whatever is most excellent not in Homer only, but, universally, in the wits of Greece. The everlasting monument of the marble temple is then reared:

Et viridi in campo templum de marmore ponam.

And, because ancient superstition usually preferred, for these purposes, the banks of rivers to other situations, therefore the poet, in beautiful allusion to the site of some of the most celebrated pagan temples, builds his on the Mincius. We see with what a scrupulous propriety the allusion is carried on.

Propter aquam, tardis ingens ubi flexibus errat
Mincius, et tenera praetexit arundine ripas.

Next, this temple was to be dedicated, as a monument of the victor's piety, as well as glory, to some propitious, tutelary deity, under whose auspices the great adventure had been atchieved. The dedication is then made to the poet's divinity, Augustus:

In medio mihi Caesar erit, templumque tenebit.

Templum tenebit. The expression is emphatical; as intimating to us, and prefiguring the secret purpose of the Aeneis, which was, in the person of Aeneas, to shadow forth and consecrate the character of Augustus. His divinity was to fill and occupy that great work. And the ample circuit and magnificence of the epic plan was projected only, as a more awful enclosure of that august presence, which was to inhabit and solemnize the vast round of this poetic building.

And now the wonderful address of the poet's artifice appears. The mad servility of his country had deified the emperor in good earnest: and his brother poets made no scruple to worship in his temples, and to come before him with handfuls of real incense, smoking from the altars. But the sobriety of Virgil's adoration was of another cast. He seizes this circumstance only to embody a poetical fiction; which, on the supposition of an actual deification, hath all the force of compliment, which the fact implies, and yet, as presented through the chaste veil of allegory, eludes the monstrous offence, which the naked recital must needs have given to decency and common sense. Had the emperor's popular divinity been flatly acknowledged, and adored, the praise, even under Virgil's management, had been insufferable for its extravagance; and without some support for his poetical numen to rest upon, the figure had been more forced and strained, than the rules of just writing allow. As it is, the historical truth of his apotheosis authorizes and supports the fiction, and the fiction in its turn, serves to refine and palliate the history.

The Aeneis being, by the poet's improvement of this circumstance, thus naturally predicted under the image of a temple, we may expect to find a close and studied analogy betwixt them. The great, component parts of the one, will no doubt, be made, very faithfully, to represent and adumbrate those of the other. This hath been executed with great art and diligence.

1. The temple, we observed, was erected on the banks of a river. This site was not only proper for the reason already mentioned, but also, for the further convenience of instituting public games, the ordinary attendants of the consecration of temples. These were generally, as in the case of the Olympic and others, celebrated on the banks of rivers.

Illi victor ego, et Tyrio conspectus in ostro,
Centum quadrijugos agitabo ad flumina currus.
Cuncta mihi, Alpheum linquens lucosque Molorchi,
Cursibus et crudo decern et Graecia caestu.

To see the propriety of the figure in this place, the reader needs only be reminded of the book of games in the Aeneid, which was purposely introduced in honour of the emperor, and not, as is commonly thought, for a mere trial of skill between the poet and his master. The emperor was passionately fond of these sports, and was even the author, or restorer of one of them. It is not to be doubted, that he alludes also to the quinquennial games, actually celebrated, in honour of his temples, through many parts of the empire. And this the poet undertakes in the civil office of victor.

2. What follows is in the religious office of priest. For it is to be noted, that, in assuming this double character, which the decorum of the solemnities, here recounted, prescribed, the poet has an eye to the political design of the Aeneis, which was to do honour to Caesar, in either capacity of a civil and religious personage; both being essential to the idea of the perfect legislator, he was to adorn and recommend. The account of his sacerdotal functions is delivered in these words:

Ipse caput tonsae foliis ornatus olivae
Dona feram. Jam nunc solemnes ducere pompas
Ad delubra juvat, caesosque videre juvencos;
Vel scena ut versis discedat frontibus, utque
Purpurea intexti tollant aulaea Britanni.

The imagery in this place cannot be understood, without reflecting on the customary form and disposition of the pagan temples. Delubrum, or Delubra, for either number is used indifferently, denotes the shrine, or sanctuary, wherein the statue of the presiding God was placed. This was in the center of the building. Exactly before the delubrum, and at no great distance from it, was the altar. Further, the the shrine, or delubrum, was inclosed, and shut up on all sides by doors of curious carved work, and ductile veils, embellish'd by the rich embroidery of flowers, animals, or human figures. This being observed, the progress of the imagery before us will be this. The procession ad delubra, or shrine: the sacrifice on the altars, erected before it: and, lastly, the painted, or rather wrought scenery of the purple veils, inclosing the image, which were ornamented, and seemed to be sustained or held up by the figures of inwoven Britons. The meaning of all which, is, that the poet would proceed to the celebration of Caesar's praise in all the gradual, solemn preparation of poetic pomp: that he would render the most grateful offerings to his divinity in those occasional episodes, which he should consecrate to his more immediate honour: and finally, that he would provide the richest texture of his fancy, for a covering to that admired image of his virtues, which was to make the sovereign pride and glory of his poem. The choice of the inwoven Britons, for the support of his veil, is well accounted for by those, who tell us, that Augustus was proud to have a number of these to serve about him in quality of slaves.

The ornaments of the doors of this delubrum, on which the sculptor used to lavish all the riches of his art, are next delineated.

In foribus pugnam ex auro solidoque elephanto
Gangaridum faciam, victorisque arma Quirini;
Atquo hic undantem bello, magnumque fluentem
Nilum, ac navali surgentes aere columnas.
Addam urbes Asiae domitas, pulsumque Niphaten,
Fidentemque fuga Parthum versisque sagittis;
Et duo rapta manu diverso ex hoste trophaea,
Bisque triumphatas utroque ex littore gentes.

Here the covering of the figure is too thin to hide the literal meaning from the commonest reader, who sees, that the several triumphs of Caesar, here recorded in sculpture, are those, which the poet hath taken so much pains to finish, and hath occasionally inserted, as it were, in miniature, in several places of his poem. Let him only turn to the prophetic speech of Anchises' shade in the VIth, and to the description of the shield in the VIIIth book.

Hitherto we have contemplated the decorations of the shrine, i. e. such as bear a more direct and immediate reference to the honour of Caesar. We are now presented with a view of the remoter, surrounding ornaments of the temple. These are the illustrious Trojan chiefs, whose story was to furnish the materials, or, more properly, to form the body and case, as it were, of this august structure. They are also connected with the idol deity of the place by the closest ties of relationship, the Julian family affecting to derive its pedigree from this proud original. The poet then, in his arrangement of these additional figures, with admirable judgment, completes and rounds the entire fiction.

Stabunt & Parii lapides, spirantia signa,
Assaraci proles, demissaeque ab Jove gentis
Nomina: Trosque parens & Trojae Cynthius auctor.

Nothing now remains but for fame to eternize the glories of what the great architect had, at the expence of so much art and labour, completed; which is predicted, in the highest sublime of ancient poetry, under the idea of envy, whom the poet personalizes, shuddering at the view of such transcendent perfection; and tasting, beforehand, the pains of a remediless vexation, strongly pictured in the image of the worst, infernal tortures.

Invidia infelix furias amnemque severum
Cocyti metuet, tortosque Ixionis angues,
Immanemque rotam, & non exuperabile saxum.

Thus have I presumed, but with a religious awe, to inspect and declare the mysteries of this ideal temple. The attempt after all might have been censured, as prophane, if the great Mystagogue himself, or some body for him , had not given us the undoubted key to it. Under this encouragement I could not withstand the temptation of disclosing thus much of one of the noblest fictions of antiquity; and the rather, as the propriety of allegoric composition, which made the distinguished pride of ancient poetry, seems but little known or attended to by the modern professors of this fine art.

In these lines,

Mox tamen ardentes accingar dicere pugnas
Caesaris, & nomen fama tot ferre per annos,
Tithoni prima quot abest ab origine Caesar. Which I suspect not to have been from the hand of Virgil. And,
1. On account of some peculiarities in the expression.

Accingar is of frequent use in the best authors, to denote a readiness and resolution to do any thing; but as joined with an infinitive mood, accingar dicere, I do not remember to have ever seen it. 'Tis often used by Virgil, but, if the several places be consulted, it will always be found with an accusative and preposition, expressed or understood, as magicas accingier artes, or with an accusative and dative, as accingere se praedae, or lastly with an ablative, expressing the instrument, as accingor ferro. La Cerda, in his notes upon the place, seemed sensible of the objection, and therefore wrote, Graeca locutio: the common, but paltry, shift of learned critics, when they determine, at any rate, to support an ancient reading.

2. Ardentes pugnas, burning battles, sounds well enough to a modern ear, but I much doubt, if it would have passed in the times of Virgil. At least, I recollect no such expression in all his works; ardens being constantly joined to a word, denoting a substance of apparent light, heat, or flame, to which the allusion is easy, as ardentes gladios, ardentes oculos, campos armis sublimibus ardentes, and by an easy metaphor, ardentes hostes, but no where, that I can find, to so abstract a notion, as that of fight. It seems to be to avoid this difficulty, that some have chosen to read ardentis, in the genitive, which yet Servius rejects as of no authority. 3. But the most glaring note of illegitimacy is in the line,

Tithoni prima quot abest ab origine Caesar.

It has puzzled all the commentators from old Servius down to Mr. Martyn, to give any tolerable account of the poet's choice of Tithonus, from whom to derive the ancestry of Augustus, rather than Anchises, or Assaracus, who were not only more famous, but in the direct line. The pretences of any or all of them are too frivolous to make it necessary to spend a thought about them. The instance stands single in antiquity; much less is there any thing like it to be found in the Augustan poets.

II. But the phraseology of these lines is the least of my objection. Were it ever so accurate, there is, besides, on the first view, a manifest absurdity in the subject-matter of them. For would any writer, of but common skill in the art of composition, close a long and elaborate allegory, the principal grace of which consists in its very mystery, with a cold, and formal explanation of it? Or would he pay so poor a compliment to his patron, as to suppose his sagacity wanted the assistance of this additional triplet to lead him into the true meaning? Nothing can be more abhorrent from the usual address and artifice of Virgil's manner. Or,

III. Were the subject-matter itself passable, yet, how, in defiance of all the laws of disposition, came it to be forced in here? Let the reader turn to the passage, and he will soon perceive, that this could never be the place for it. The allegory being concluded, the poet returns to his subject, which is proposed in the six following lines:

Interea Dryadum sylvas, saltusque sequamur
Intactos, tua, Maecenas, haud mollia jussa;
Te sine nil altum mens inchoat: en age segnes
Rumpe moras: vocat ingenti clamore Cithaeron,
Taygetique canes, domitrixque Epidaurus equorum,
Et vox assensu nemorum ingeminata remugit.

Would now any one expect, that the poet, after having conducted the reader thus respectfully, to the very threshold of his subject, should immediately run away again to the point, from which he had set out, and this on so needless an errand, as the letting him into the secret of his allegory?

But this inserted triplet agrees as ill with what follows, as with what precedes it. For how abrupt is the transition, and unlike the delicate connection, so studiously contriv'd by the Augustan poets, from

Tithoni prima quot abest ab origine Caesar.

to

Seu quis Olympiacae miratur praemia palmae, &c.

When omit but these interpolated lines, and see how gracefully, and by how natural a succession of ideas, the poet slides into the main of his subject.—

Interea Dryadum sylvas saltusque sequamur
Intactos ------
Te sine nil ------
Rumpe moras: vocat ingenti clamore Cithaeron
Taygetique canes, domitrixqne Epidaurus equorum,
Et vox assensu nemorum ingeminata remugit.
Seu quis Olympiacae miratus praemia palmae
Pascit equos; seu quis fortes ad aratra juvencos:

On the whole, I have not the least doubt, that the lines before us are the spurious offspring of some later poet; if indeed the writer of them deserve that name; for, whoever he was, he is so far from partaking of the original spirit of Virgil, that at most, he appears to have been but a servile and paltry mimic of Ovid; from the opening of whose Metamorphosis the design was clearly taken. The turn of the thought is evidently the same in both, and even the expression. Mutatas dicere formas is echoed by ardentes dicere pugnas: dicere fert animus, is, by an affected improvement, accingar dicere: and Tithoni prima ab origine is almost literally the same as primaque ab origine mundi. For the insertion of these lines in this place, I leave it to the curious to conjecture of it, as they may; but in the mean time, must esteem the office of the true critic to be so far resembling that of the poet himself, as within some proper limitations, to justify the honest liberty here taken.

Cum tabulis animum censoris sumet honesti;
Audebit quaecunque parum splendoris habebunt
Et sine pondere erunt, & honore indigna feruntur,
Verba movere loco; quamvis invita recedant,
Et versenter adhuc intra penetralia Vestae.
[2 Ep. ii. 110.]

19. Spreading wide his ling'ring waters.] This description of the Mincio is, as exact as possible; the force of it lies chiefly in the epithets, tardis, ingens—the wide spreading and almost stagnation of the river, which forms the lake of Mantua.

35. I see the turning scene.] The commentators seem not sufficiently to have explained the expression of, ut versis discedat frontibus in the original. The ancient scenes were painted on a triangular machine, mark'd in the plate, D; which was so formed as to turn upon an axle or pin; each of its three sides, mark'd in the ground-plan of the plate, 1. 2. 3. represented a different subject; viz. 1. a city. 2. a palace or magnificent portico. 3. a wild forest, cave, or meadow. When a comedy was play'd, the first of these three frontispieces was turned towards the spectators; when a tragedy, the second; when a satyrical piece (such, for instance, as the Cyclops of Euripides) the third was exposed to view. And these triangular machines were placed under the arches of the theatre, marked in the plate, A, B, C. See Vitruvius B. 5. and L'Antiquite expliqueè, par D. Ber. Montfaucon, tom. 3. p. 235.

38. High on the gates.] These beautiful verses, containing an allegory of his design to publish the Aeneid in honour of Augustus, must have been added in the year of Rome 734, after Augustus had subdued the Indians and Parthians, and recovered the eagles which had been lost by Crassus. The invidia infelix points at those persons, which must have been many, that secretly repined at the imperial dignity of Augustus. Let me add the following passage from Polymetis.

“The persons he is speaking of are the enemies of the Julian family: or the faction, as he calls it, against the Caesars. These, he says, should be represented on the temple he would build to Augustus, as in the tortures of Tartarus; and more particularly as punished in the same manner as Ixion and Sisyphus. Ixion was punished there for his ingratitude and impiety: Sisyphus as a villain and a robber. So that this is calling all the party against Augustus, rascals and ingrates; and infers the highest compliment to that prince, at the same time that it is the most cruel of invectives against his enemies.

Polymetis, pag. 208.

96. The days of youth.] This tender moral reflection thrown in, diversifies and exalts the low subject the poet is treating of.

108. Ev'n now the colt.] Having spoken of the marks of good cows, the poet proceeds to speak of horses, and gives a beautiful description of a colt that is fit to be chosen for a stallion. There is some difficulty concerning the meaning of spadices: but after much enquiry Dr. Martyn thinks it is, the colour we call bay, chesnut, or sorrel.

116. Grey.] Glaucus, when spoken of the colour of an horse, signifies a dark or iron-grey; our people in Wales, still call a grey horse kephal glauce. Holdsworth.

119. Restless he paws.] This is a beautiful description of a mettlesome horse; but it is far excelled by that noble one in the book of Job. Particularly, “He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage, neither believeth he (for joy!) that it is the sound of the trumpet,” is more spirited and strong than any circumstance in Virgil's picture.

132. Such Saturn.] Saturn, to avoid being discovered by his wife Ops while he was engaged with Phylyra his mistress, turned himself into a beautiful horse. Chiron the famous centaur was the son of this nymph Phylyra.

148. Dost thou not see.] No description was ever more spirited and lively than this of the chariot race. The poet has crowded into a few lines all the circumstances that are most striking in the famous description of Homer, and it must be owned has here excelled the Greek poet. One may say, as Longinus does on almost a similar occasion, that the soul of the reader is, as it were, mounted in the chariot, and whirled along in the race with it.

160. Erichthonius.] Bigas primum junxit Phrygum natio, quadrigas Erichthonius. Pliny. He likewise says, that Bellerophon invented the backing of horses, Pelethronius bridles and furniture, and the centaurs of Thessaly the fighting on horseback.

163. Form his pliant feet.] There are several lines in this third Georgic, which shew that the manége was found out much earlier than some would imagine. Witness the following passage,

Gyrosque dedere
Impositi dorso.

And that other,

Carpere mox gyrum incipiat, &c.

The simile just after was meant to shew, a violently swift, but at the same time a level and uniform motion.

Holdsworth.

170. Without these virtues.] I received the following observations on this passage from a very ingenious gentleman.

I have always been absolutely at a loss to make out the connection of these three lines [in the original] with the foregoing. Translators and commentators make quamvis refer to something which is certainly not expressed there, nor I think implied, or insinuated; nor indeed consistent with what is there expressed. How can the horse be supposed, saepae versos hostes egisse, if he was not calidus animis? Quamvis implies an opposition between these two, whereas no two things can be more naturally connected. You have got over the difficulty as well as your neighbours, but I think it is insuperable, as the text now stands. Besides, quamvis implies that the horse above described was rejected, not that he was sought out, and chosen. In short I am persuaded, these three lines are not in their right place Suppose them placed as follows;

Hunc quoque, ubi aut morbo gravis, aut jam segnior annis
Deficit, abde domo; nec turpi ignosce senectae.
Quamvis saepe fugâ versos ille egerit hostes,
Et patriam Epirum referat, fortesque Mycenas,
Neptunique ipsa deducat origine gentem.
Frigidus in venerem senior ------

Hunc quoque—abde domo—quamvis—Observe that the horses here above mentioned are war-horses; Pollux', Mars' and Achilles' his horses; qui versos hostes egerint; now see how well the other passage goes on without the lines in question.

Aequus uterque labor, aequi juvenemque magistri
Exquirunt, calidumque animis, et cursibus acrem.
His animadversis ------
Nimirum, juventute, animis, pernicitate ------

By way of precedent, there are two remarkable transpositions of this kind in the Aeneid, which the critics have rectified against all authority of manuscripts—Aeneid 6. 745. Donec longa dies—and the two next lines, which should follow, after exuritur igni.

Aeneid 10. 717. Ille autem impavidus—and the next, which should come after clamoribus instant.

176. With genial herbs.] Varro and Columella speak of the necessity of feeding the bulls amply for two months before the time. Tauros duobus mensibus ante admissuram herbâ, et paleâ et focno facio pleniores et a faeminis secerno. Varro.

182. New desires.] Voluptas nota in the original, does not signify the experienced pleasure, says Dr. Martyn, but the desire which now first begins to be known by the young mare. Jam nota, just now (and not before) known.

203 Asilus.] This insect is a dreadful plague to the cows of Italy. An Italian writer quoted by Dr. Martyn informs us, that it resembles a wasp, has two membraneous wings, with which it makes a most horrible whizzing. The belly is terminated by three long rings, one within another, from the last of which proceeds a formidable sting. This sting is composed of a tube thro' which the egg is emitted, and two augres, which make way for the tube to penetrate into the skin of the cattle. These augres are armed with little knives which prick with their points, and cut with their edges, causing intolerable pain to the wounded animal.

226. Correction bear.] Mr. Dryden talks here of sending the calf to school, restraining him from the bad examples of the world, and instructing him in moral precepts. Virgil says only, ad studium et usum agrestem dum faciles animi.

263. Like Boreas.] It cannot be imagined, by the severest critics, who think such beauties of style in the ancients chimerical, that Virgil did not intend to represent by this swift line of dactyles the course of the wind.

Ille volat, simul arva fuga, simul aequora verrens.

270. Elean plain.] This alludes to the Olympic games celebrated about Olympia in the region of Elis. Whoever would have a just notion of the great political usefulness of these celebrated games of Greece, will meet with much pleasure and instruction from the learned and ingenious Mr. West's dissertation prefixed to his translation of an author, to whom he alone, of all the moderns, has done justice, in a spirited and elegant translation of his odes. See Mr. West's Pindar.

285. The mighty rivals.] The description of the bulls contending for the female is admirable; particularly, that fine circumstance of the vanquish'd bull looking back on his old accustomed stall and pastures when he is forced to retreat. And still more so, the circumstance of his lying down, sullenly disconsolate, on the stones, feeding upon rushes and prickly leaves, and exercising his horns against the trunks of trees, to enable himself to contend again with his hated rival. All these beautiful strokes are concluded by the noble simile of a vast wave rolling towards a rocky shore. The pause at procumbit

Monte minor procumbit,

is very expressive of the thing intended.

332. How fares the youth.] The poet alludes to the celebrated story of Hero and Leander, perhaps the most entertaining of all the ancient love-tales; the Musaeus who has written an elegant poem on this subject, was not the ancient Musaeus; for several false conceits and thoughts, rather pretty than solid, and contrary to the simplicity of the older Grecian writers, evidently betray the later age of the piece. 'Tis observable Virgil hints, that the whole species would encounter the same dangers as Leander did for the sake of love.

357. Hippomanes.] The hippomanes signifies two things. 1. A certain liquor that flows from a mare ready to take horse. 2. An excrescence of flesh which the new foaled colts have upon their foreheads. It is black, round, and of the bigness of a dried fig. It is pretended that these two hippomanes's have a peculiar virtue in philtres, and other such compositions designed for fascinations. And that the last is of such a nature, that a mare has no sooner dropped her colt, but she eats this piece of flesh, without which she would not suckle it. A curious reader may see a learned dissertation on this subject at the end of Mr. Bayle's Dictionary.

371. Where never poet.] This is an imitation of Lucretius:

Nec me axïmum fallit quam sint obscura, sed acre
Percussit thyrso laudis spes magna meum cor ------
------ juvat integros accedere fontes
Atque, haurire, juvatque novos decergere flores,
Unde prius nulli velerint tempora musae.

372. Pales.] The third is the most epic of all the Georgics; and the introduction to it, as well as several passages in it, particularly this, shew that Virgil regarded it as such himself. Holdsworth.

391. Tents.] Varro speaking of the usefulness of goats, says, they are shorn for the use of sailors and war.

404. The freshness of the morning is painted in the liveliest colours.

407. Shrill cicada's lay.] Several of the modern Italian poets mention the singing of the cicada, as very loud and troublesome in the great heats of summer. Per gli ombrosi rami le argute cicale cantando si affatica vano sotto al gran caldo. Arcadia del Sannazaro, Prosa 10.

412. Or where.] How beautifully has the poet enlivened these dry precepts concerning the time of watering cattle by this description of a little landscape! of a vast old oak standing in a valley, or an ilex or ever-green oak, spreading a thick and solemn shade! The description of the cool of the evening is delightful,

------ saltus reficit jam roscida luna,
Litoraqut halcyonen resonant, et acanthida dumi.

412. Ilex-forest dark and deep.] We have not a full idea of this image, from our not knowing of how deep a green the ilex is, and what a vast shade it casts in Italy, where there are great numbers of this tree.

422. By day.] Thi digression to the shepherds of Africa cannot be sufficiently praised—one sees them

Pasturing on from verdant stage to stage.
Thomson, Cast. of Ind.

The vastness of those plains are represented by the very flow of this line,

------ itque pecus longa in deserta sine ullis
Hospitiis ------ tantum campi jacet.

428. So Rome's.] The Roman soldiers were wont to carry in their campaigns, not only their swords, helmets and shields, but likewise provisions for a fortnight, and stakes and utensils.

432. Not so.] The contrast is very strong between the scenes of Africa and Scythia, and has a fine effect. This variety, this magic art of conveying the reader from one climate to another, constitutes one of the greatest beauties of poetry.

M. de Maup rtuis, who, with some other academicians, was sent by the king of France, in 1736, to measure a degree of the meridian, under the arctic circle, says, that brandy was the only liquor, which could be kept sufficiently fluid for them to drink: Pendant un froid si grand, que la langue et les levres se geloient sur le champ, contre le tasse, &c. And a little afterwards he tells us, that the spirits of wine froze in their thermometers. See Dr. Martyn for other instances.

442. Or when he climbs.] This winter-piece has ever been admired as one of the capital paintings of Virgil. Mr. Thomson has given us a noble imitation of it, in his view of winter within the polar circle; and has added some striking circumstances, not to be found in Virgil, which modern travellers have observed. I cannot forbear transcribing his conclusion, where he describes winter personally. The image is very sublime.

“Here Winter holds his unrejoycing court,
“And thro' his airy hall the loud misrule
“Of driving tempest is for ever heard;
“Here the grim tyrant meditates his wrath,
“Here arms his winds with all-subduing frost;
“Moulds his fierce hail, and treasures up his snows,
“With which he now oppresses half the globe.”

478. Tho' white thy ram.] If the tongue of the ram be black or speckled, (says Varro) the lambs will be of the same colour. See Aristotle of animals, to the same purpose.

497. Nor mean the toil] The poet says but little concerning the care and breeding of dogs, or of hunting. Mr. Somerville, in his poem entituled the Chace, one of the best productions of this age, has in some measure supplied the defect.

513. The viper too.] Dr. Martyn thinks the serpent here described to be that which Pliny calls boas. This author affirms they grew to a prodigious bigness, and that a child was found in the belly of one of them in the reign of Claudius: that they feed on cow's milk, whence they have their name. The line a little below

Cape saxa manû, cape robora pastor,

is exactly expressive of hurry and eagerness: there are no particles in it; so in the fourth Aeneid,

Ferte citi flammas, date tela, impellite flammas

523. Calabria's forests.] The poet here speaks of another serpent called chersydrus, from its living both in water, and on earth.

539. Brandishes.] Micare in its true and natural signification relates to any quick motion. So Virgil, micat auribus; and Cicero, digitis micare; of that old game so common in Italy of darting out their fingers, and guessing at the number of these darted out each time, so often mentioned by others of the Roman writers. Holdsworth.

542. Scabs oft the flock.] Columella remarks, that a sheep as soon as it is sheared, should be anointed with a mixture of the juice of lupines, the lees of old wine, and the dregs of oil, in equal quantities; and be washed four days afterwards in the sea, or in rain water salted; and quotes the authority of Celsus, who affirms that a sheep treated after this manner, will be free from the scab a whole year, and that the wool will be the softer, and the longer for it. See Dr. Martyn on the place.

567. And fierce Gelonian] Several northern nations at this time drink mare's milk mixed with blood. Pliny says, they mixed millet with it.

579. This truth to know.] The sense is, if any one knows what sort of places these were, when they were full of cattle, he may now see them empty, tho' it is a long time since the pestilence. Servius.

580. The pastures where Timavus'.] Timavus is a river of Carniola.

581. And Noric cliffs.] Noricum was a region of Germany bordering on the Alps.

585. Here sprung of old.] We now enter upon the celebrated description of the plague. Virgil puts forth all his strength to endeavour to excel Lucretius's sixth book on the plague at Athens. Neither can I think he has so far excelled his master (for such he was) as some critics imagine. Many hints in this description are borrowed from Thucydides his famous account of the plague at Athens. See Dr. Martyn for a full and particular account of this pestilence.

607. The victor horse.] Infelix studiorum in the original is an expression resembling laeta laborum, victus animi, fortunatus laborum. Read the description of these symptoms from this line to fauces premit aspera lingua: see how nobly the poet acquits himself on a subject, so exceeding difficult to be described, and let us compare it with a singularly fine one in Lucretius of the same kind:

Perturbata animi mens in moerore metuque;
Triste supercilium, furiosus vultus, & acer,
Sollicitae porro, plenaeque sonoribus aures:
Creber spiritus, aut ingens, raroque coörtus,
Tenuia sputa, minuta, croci contincta colore,
Salsaque per fauces raucas vix edita tussi.

628. The bullock sinks.] How exquisitely beautiful is the pause in this verse at the word gemitus! it tristis arator, by the very melancholy flow of the words places the action of the ploughman full in our sight: the next line proceeds as slow as possible, consisting of all spondees,

Moerentem abjungens fraterna morte juvencum.

The circumstance of the brother heifer grieving is most tenderly imagined. Non umbrae altorum nemorum is an imitation of Lucretius, where the dam is lamenting her calf that was sacrificed;

Nec tenerae salices, atque herbae rore vigentes,
Fluminaqne ulla queunt summis labentia ripis
Oblectare animum, subitamque avertere curam.

It was upon reading these exquisite lines, that Scaliger declared, he had rather have been the author of them, than to have been the first favourite of Craesus or Cyrus. I wish there was no sentiment in Scaliger's works more extravagant than this.

652. The wily wolf.] Observe these circumstances of the wolves prowling no more, because acrior illum cura domat, and the deer wandering near the dwellings of men.

656. On the shores.] Virgil, 'tis observed, expressly contradicts Aristotle, who asserts, that pestilential diseases never affect fishes.

660. Th'astonish'd hydra.] I know not a stronger image in any poet whatever, than this of the serpents dying with their scales erect and stiffened: attoniti (which is a most expressive word in this place) squamis astantibus hydri!

The poet brings into his subject the inhabitants of every element, making as it were all nature affected with this dreadful plague.

665. Chiron, Melampus.]The poet does not mean that the plague happened in the days of Chiron and Melampus, but that the very best physicians acknowledged their skill useless in this case. Particulars are named for generals. Lucretius speaks personally of the art of physic, which has a fine effect.

------ Mussabat tacito Medicina timore.

667. Tisiphone from hell.] The figure of Tisiphone driving before her a train of diseases and fear, is nobly conceived. It puts one in mind of that exalted image in Habakuk, where the prophet speaking of Jehovah in his wrath, says, “Before him went the pestilence.” The circumstance of the fury Tisiphone's growing every day larger and larger, is truly admirable, as it so justly alludes to the daily increase of the pestilence. This is the beauty of an allegory, to have it supported by truth.

672. The withering banks] What can be more pathetic than the circumstance of the hills perpetually echoing with the mournful bleatings of the sheep, &c.

683. Th'insatiate flame.] Some imagine that by sacer ignis an erysipelas or St. Anthony's fire may be meant.

But perhaps sacer may mean accursed, or direfulauri sacra fames—sacer esto.


335

BOOK IV.

Next heavenly honey, and ambrosial dews,
This too Maecenas hear! my song pursues;
Great wonders of an insect-race imparts,
Their manners, mighty leaders, arms, and arts;
The subject trivial, but not low the praise,
If heav'n should smile, and Phoebus aid the lays.
First for your bees a shelter'd station find,
Impervious to the gusts of rushing wind;
Rude blasts permit them not, as wide they roam,
To bring their food and balmy treasures home.
To tread the sweets of neighb'ring flow'rs forbid
The sportful lambkin, and exulting kid;

337

Nor springing herbs let roving heifers crush,
Nor nibbling sheep the morning dew-drops brush,
Nor scaly lizards near their walls be found,
Nor ravenous birds, nor merops flit around,
Nor Progne, markt her breast with hands of blood;
Each wandering insect they destroy for food,
Arrest the lab'ring bees, a luscious prey,
And to th'expectant hungry nests convey.
But near, let fountains spring, and rivulets pass,
Meand'ring thro' the tufts of moss and grass;
Let spreading palm before the portal grow,
Or olive wild his sheltering branches throw;
That when the youthful swarms come forth to play,
Beneath the vernal sun's unclouded ray,
The kings may lead them to this cool retreat,
Where flow'ry banks invite, and boughs defend from heat.
Hast thou a living rill, or stagnant lake,
With willows and huge stones the waters break;
On which the wanderers safely may alight,
When rains or winds retard their destin'd flight;
On which emerging from the waves, may land,
And their wet wings to tepid suns expand.
Let cassia green and thyme shed sweetness round,
Savoury, and strongly-scented mint abound,
Herbs that the ambient air with fragrance fill;
While beds of violets drink the freshening rill.

339

Whether your hive you frame of woven boughs,
Or rear with pliant bark the concave house,
Strait be its entrance; lest the varying year
Congeal the golden combs with frost severe,
Or melt the mass in summer's scorching beams;
Baneful alike to bees are both extremes.
For this around the chinks by nature led,
Soft wax and flowers and fucus' juice they spread:
For this their stores with potent glews enrich,
More tough than bird-lime or Idean pitch.
And oft in caverns as tradition tells,
They fix their bower, and form their secret cells,
Oft in cleft stone their hoarded sweets are laid,
Or moss-green oaken trunks with age decay'd.
Thou too with mud the chinky sides o'erlay,
And thinly shade them with the leafy spray.
Ne'er by their walls let yews unwholsome grow,
Nor let the red'ning crabs in embers glow,
Ne'er trust them near the fen, or stagnate flood,
Nor rank pernicious stench of reeking mud,
Nor where your voice from hollow rocks rebounds,
And hill to hill returns the mimic sounds.
Now cloth'd in gold, when the bright sun hath driv'n
Pale winter down, and op'd the smiling heav'n
With cloudless lustre, strait abroad they rove,
Around each lawn, around each verdant grove,
And sip the purple flowers, and lightly skim
Across the dimpled brook and river's brim:
Hence inexpressive fondness fills their breast,
For their young progeny and rising nest;
With joy their waxen labours they renew,
Thick'ning to honey their nectareous dew.

341

Burst from their cells if a young troop be seen,
That sails exulting through the blue serene,
Driv'n by the winds, in clouds condens'd and dark,
Observe them close, the paths they steer remark;
They seek fresh fountains, and thick shady bowers,
'Tis then the time to scatter fragrant flowers.
Bruis'd baum, and vulgar cerinth spread around,
And ring the tinkling brass, and sacred cymbals sound:
They'll settle on the medicated seats,
And hide them in the chambers' last retreats.
But if intent on war they seek the foe,
'Twixt two contending kings when discords glow,
The peoples' troubled minds you soon presage,
Burning for battle, swoln with eager rage;
Hark! a rough clangor calls the hosts to arms,
A voice, like the deep trumpet's hoarse alarms!
Furious they meet, and brandishing their wings,
Fit all their claws and sharpen all their stings,
Around their monarch's high pavilion croud,
And call the lagging foe with shoutings loud.

343

Now when a day serene and bright they gain,
From the vext city rush both battles main,
Dire is the conflict, loud resounds the sky,
Close in one cluster they contend on high,
And headlong fall, as thick as clattering hail,
Or acorns strew, from shaken oaks, the vale.
The kings shine glorious 'mid the thickest war,
And mighty souls in narrow bosoms bear:
Stedfast in fight, unknowing how to yield,
Till these or those forsake the deathful field.
These fierce contentions, this pernicious fray,
A little dust flung upwards will allay.
When now both chiefs have left the doubtful strife,
The vanquish'd wretch shall yield his forfeit life;
Lest he consume the stores, an useless drone;
While uncontroll'd the victor mounts the throne.
Two diff'rent kinds of regal bees, behold,
The better bears a coat that glows with gold;
More delicate proportions grace his frame,
And radiant scales o'er all his body flame:
While in the other, sloth's foul hues prevail,
Groveling he scarce his breadth of paunch can trail.
Alike a different form the people wear,
These squalid to the sight, and rough appear:
As when the traveller, all spent with thirst,
Spits from parch'd lips the froth-attemper'd dust.
The better race refulgent hues unfold,
Bedropt with even spots of glistening gold;
At stated seasons, theseshall plenteous pour
From their swoln combs the sweet nectareous show'r;
Yet pure as sweet, and potent to diffuse
New flavours mild o'er Bacchus' harsher juice.

345

But when the swarms in aether idly play,
And from their emptied hives uncertain stray;
From the vain sport their giddy minds restrain,
Nor great to check the fugitives the pain:
Be it thy care, from these high-reverenc'd kings,
Conductors of their flight, to clip the wings;
The troops to march without their leaders fear,
Nor dare the standard from the camp to bear.
Let gardens gay, with saffron flowers, invite
The fickle wanderers, and retard their flight:
Safe let them live beneath Priapus' eye,
Whose hook rapacious birds and robbers fly.
But let the swain who makes the hive his care,
Sweet thyme and pines from the steep mountains bear:
Nor should himself refuse, their straw-built house
Far round to shade with thickly-woven boughs;
Himself should plant the spreading greens, and pour
Thick o'er the thirsting beds the friendly show'r.
And here, but that I hasten to the shore,
Prepar'd to strike my sails, and launch no more;
Perhaps the gardens' culture I might sing,
Teach Paestum's doubly-blooming rose to spring;
How celery and endive love to grow
On verdant banks where gurgling rivulets flow;
How best the creeping cucumber may swell;
Nor daffadil's late bloom would fail to tell;
Acanthus' bending stalks, nor ivy hoar,
Nor myrtles green, that love the breezy shore.
For once beneath Oebalia's lofty towers,
Where black Galesus thro' rich pastures pours,

347

An old Corycian yeoman I beheld,
Lord of a little, and forsaken field,
Too poor to nourish sheep, or fatning kine,
The golden corn, or Bacchus' joyous vine;
Yet he thin sallads 'mid the bushy ground,
And vervain planted, and white lillies round;
And late at eve returning home to rest,
His frugal board with unbought dainties blest,
Nor wish'd to be the richest monarch's guest.
When spring with flowers, with fruits when autumn glows,
He first could pull the apple, crop the rose;
When winter drear had clove the rocks with cold,
And chain'd in ice the rivers as they roll'd,
Ev'n then acanthus' tender leaves he shear'd,
Slow zephyr blam'd, and a late summer fear'd.
He the first swarms could boast and pregnant bees,
From the full combs could richest honey squeeze:
Tall were his pines and limes, and fruitful all his trees.
Whatever buds the bending branches wore,
So many fruits in autumn swell'd his store.
He too could high-grown elms transplant in rows,
Or harden'd pear-trees from their place transpose,
Or plumbs with all their fruits, or lofty planes
That shelter'd with broad shades the quaffing swains.
But since too narrow bounds my song confine,
To future bards these subjects I resign.

446

Now listen while the wond'rous powers I sing,
And genius giv'n to bees by heav'n's almighty king,
Whom in the Cretan cave they kindly fed,
By cymbals' sound, and clashing armour led.
They, they alone a general interest share,
Their young committing to the public care;
And all concurring to the common cause,
Live in fixt cities under settled laws:
Of winter mindful and inclement skies,
In summer hoard, for all the state, supplies:
Alternate some provide the nation's food,
And search it o'er each forest, field, and flood;
Some for the comb's foundations gather glew,
And temper gums with daffadil's rich dew;
Then with nice art the waxen arches bend,
Or with nectareous sweets the fret-work cells distend;
Commission'd some, th'important office bear,
To form the youth, the nation's hope, with care;
Some, by joint compact, at the city's gate
Intent, and watchful of heav'n's changes, wait,
Examine ev'ry motion of the skies,
What show'rs approach, what storms or winds arise;
Or ease the burden'd lab'rers limbs, or drive
The drones, a race of sluggards, from the hive;

351

The crowded dome with toil intensely glows,
And from the breathing sweets a blended fragrance flows.
As when Jove's bolts to frame, the Cyclops sweat,
The rough and stubborn ore subdue with heat,
While chiming hammers in just order beat;
Some turn the weighty mass with griping tongs,
While others heave the puffing bellows' lungs,
Or the red bars in hissing water lave,
Deep Aetna groans below, thro' many an echoing cave:
No less (small things with greater to compare)
Toil the Cecropian bees with ceaseless care;
Each knows his task: the old their towns attend,
Shape their nice cells, their daedal works defend;
But late at evening those of youthful prime
Return fatigu'd, their thighs surcharg'd with thyme;
They prey on arbutes, willow-buds devour,
Sweet cassia, and the saffron's glowing flow'r;
From fruitful limes sip rich mellifluous dew,
And suck soft hyacinths, of purple hue.
All rest together, all together toil:
At morn they rush abroad, the flow'rs to spoil;
When twilight evening warns them to their home,
With weary wings and heavy thighs they come,
And crowd about the gate, and mix a drowsy hum.
At last, into their inmost chambers creep,
And silent lie dissolv'd in balmy sleep.

353

When east winds blow, or gathering rains impend,
The skies they trust not, nor their flights extend;
But drink of streams that flow their city nigh,
Work near the walls, and short excursions try;
Poize their light bodies, like a ballanc'd boat,
With sands, as through tempestuous air they float.
But chief, this circumstance may wonder move,
That none indulge th'enfeebling joys of love,
None pangs of child-birth bear, but leaves among,
And fragrant flow'rs, they gather all their young;

355

Hence their great king and citizens create,
And build their waxen realms, and courts of state.
On rugged rocks, oft as abroad they fly
They tear their wings, sink with their loads and die;
Such love of flow'rs inflames their little hearts,
So great their glory in these wond'rous arts.
Tho' seven short years are to one race decreed,
Still they continue an exhaustless breed,
From age to age encrease, and sires to sires succeed.

357

Lydian nor Mede so much his king adores,
Nor those on Nilus' or Hydaspes' shores:
The state united stands, while he remains,
But should he fall, what dire confusion reigns!
Their waxen combs, and honey late their joy,
With grief and rage distracted, they destroy:
He guards the works, with awe they him surround,
And crowd about him with triumphant sound;
Him frequent on their duteous shoulders bear,
Bleed, fall, and die for him, in glorious war.
Led by such wonders, sages have opin'd,
That bees have portions of an heavenly mind:
That God pervades, and like one common soul,
Fills, feeds, and animates the world's great whole;
That flocks, herds, beasts, and men from him receive
Their vital breath, in him all move and live;
That souls discerpt from him shall never die,
But back resolv'd to god and heaven shall fly,
And live for ever in the starry sky.
When of its sweets the dome thou would'st deprive,
Diffuse warm-spirted water thro' thy hive,
Or noxious smoke thro' all their dwellings drive.
Twice the sweet artists plenteous honey make,
Thou twice each year th'ambrosial treasures take;
First when Taygete shews her beauteous head,
Disdaining Oceans' melancholy bed;
And when with sudden flight the fish she leaves,
Descending pensive to the wintry waves.

359

Fierce rage and choler in their bosoms glow,
With venom'd stings they dart upon their foe,
Their subtle poison creeps the veins around,
In sweet revenge they die upon the wound.
But if in winter bleak, their broken state,
And drooping spirits you commiserate,
Who doubts, regardful of the pinching time,
To fumigate their hives with fragrant thyme,
And pare their empty wax? The lizard lurks,
Or slow-pac'd beetle in their inmost works,
Or oft their golden hoards the fat drones spoil,
A race that riots on another's toil;
Or the fierce hornet, sounding dire alarms,
Provokes the lab'rers to unequal arms;
Or baneful moths, or she whom Pallas hates,
Suspends her filmy nets before their gates.
The more they loose, the more with ceaseless care,
They strive the state's destruction to repair;
Their plunder'd wealth and wasted combs renew,
And swell their granaries with thicken'd dew.
But when, as human ills descend to bees,
The pining nation labours with disease;
Chang'd is their glittering hue to ghastly pale,
Roughness and leanness o'er their limbs prevail;
Forth the dead citizens with grief are borne,
In solemn state the sad attendants mourn.
Clung by the feet they hang the live-long day
Around the door, or in their chambers stay,
Hunger and cold and grief their toils delay.
'Tis then in hoarser tones their hums resound,
Like hollow winds the rustling forest 'round,

361

Or billows breaking on a distant shore;
Or flames in furnaces that inly roar.
Galbanean odours here I would advise;
And thro' a reed to pour the sweet supplies
Of golden honey, to invite the taste
Of the sick nation, to their known repast:
Bruis'd galls, dry'd roses, thyme and centuary join,
And raisins ripen'd on the Psithian vine:
Besides, in meads the plant Amellus grows,
And from one root thick stalks profusely throws,
Which easily the wand'ring simpler knows:
Its top a flow'r of golden hue displays,
Its leaves are edg'd with violet-tinctur'd rays;
Rough is the taste; round many an holy shrine
The sacred priests its beauteous foliage twine,
This, where meand'ring Mella laves the plains,
Or in the new-shorn valley, seek the swains,
Its roots infuse in wine, and at their door
In baskets hang the medicated store.
But should your stock decay thro' dire disease,
Nor hope remain new families to raise,
Hear the strange secret I shall now impart,
The great Arcadian master's matchless art;
An art to reproduce th'exhausted store
From a slain bullock's putrifying gore:
I'll to its distant source the wond'rous tale explore.
Where happy the Canopian nation dwells,
Where Nile with genial inundation swells,

363

Where swains, the meadows while he largely floats,
Around their pastures glide in painted boats,
From tawny India while he rolls his tides,
And into seven huge mouths his stream divides,
And pressing close on quiver'd Persia's clime,
Green Egypt fattens with prolific slime;
These swains, when grows extinct their honied race,
Sure hope and refuge in this practice place.
First for the work they chuse a narrow ground,
With streighten'd walls and roof embrac'd around:
Fronting the winds four windows add, to strike
Athwart the twilight space their beams oblique:
Then seek in prime of youth a lusty steer,
Whose forehead crooked horns begins to wear,

365

His mouth and nostrils stop, the gates of breath,
And buffet the indignant beast to death;
Till the bruis'd bowels burst with many a stroke:
But still th'external skin remains unbroke.
Then leave him dead; his putrid limbs below,
Green twigs and thyme, and recent cassia strew.
Be this perform'd when zephyr's balmy breeze
First curls the surface of the smiling seas,
Ere bloom the meads in crimson vesture drest,
Ere swallows twitter o'er the new-built nest.
The tainted juices, in this prison pent,
Begin to boil, and thro' the bones ferment;
A wond'rous swarm strait from the carcase crawls,
Of feetless and unfinish'd animals;
Anon their infant buzzing wings they try,
And more and more attempt the boundless sky:
At last embody'd from their birth-place pour,
Thick as from copious clouds a summer-show'r,
Or flight of arrows, when with twanging bows
The Parthians in fierce onset gall their foes.
What god, ye nine, this art disclos'd to man,
Say whence this great experiment began?
Sad Aristaeus from sweet Tempe fled,
His bees with famine and diseases dead,
And at the spring of sacred Peneus' flood,
Thus plaining to his sea-green parent stood.
Mother, Cyrene! mother, you who keep
Your wat'ry court beneath this crystal deep,

367

Why did you bear me of a race divine,
Yet stain with sorrows my celestial line?
If Phoebus be my sire, as you relate,
Why am I doom'd the sport of angry fate?
How have I lost, O how! your former love?
Why did you bid me hope to rise to heav'n above?
Lo! all I gain'd, by cattle, fields and corn,
(Those works which best this mortal state adorn)
The fruits of toil and thought intense are lost,
Tho' for my mother I a goddess boast!
Come then, with your own hand uproot my groves,
My stalls and stables burn, infect my droves,
My harvests murder, cut each blooming vine,
Since at my rising honours you repine.
His wondering mother heard the mournful sound,
Low in the chambers of the waves profound.
The nymphs around her plac'd, their spindles ply'd,
And spun Milesian wool, in verdure deeply dy'd.
Ligea, Xantho, Drymo, Spio, fair;
Thalia, and Phyllodoce, whose hair
Wav'd o'er their snowy shoulders in the air;
Nesaea, Ephyre, with Opis, thee!
And, her that calms the waves, Cymmodoce:
The yellow maid, Lyeorias, and the bride
Cydippe, who Lucina's pangs had try'd,
Clio, and Beroë, sea-born both, behold,
Both clad in spotted skins and radiant gold,
Deïope, and Arethuse, the chaste,
No more intent to pierce the flying beast.
There Clymene sung Vulcan's fruitless cares,
The luscious thefts, and soft deceits of Mars,

369

And how from Chaos old, all-mighty Love
Had fill'd the bosom of each god above.
While thus they toil'd, enchanted with the strain,
His voice alarm'd his mother's ears again;
The listening sisters heard unusual groans
Amaz'd, and started from their crystal thrones:
But Arethuse first heav'd her beauteous head
Above the waves; and, O Cyrene, said,
Well might'st thou fear these echoing sounds of woe,
These sorrows from thy Aristaeus flow;
Thy darling care mourns by thy father's flood,
And calls thee cruel, and complains aloud.
Pitying the youth, the fear-struck mother said,
My son, O quickly, quickly hither lead,
To him 'tis given the courts of gods to tread.
At once she bids the swelling rivers cleave,
Th'obedient floods an ample entrance leave;
Down thro' the deeps he goes, on either hand
The congregated waves like mountains stand.
Now wondering at the wat'ry realms he went,
At dashing lakes in hollow caverns pent,
His mother's palace, and the sounding woods,
And deaf'ning roar of subterraneous floods.
Amaz'd he saw, this spacious globe below,
Deep in its bed each mighty river flow,

371

Phasis, and Lycus, and the fruitful head,
Whence burst Enipeus' streams, whence father Tiber's spread,
Whence Hypanis, that swiftly-pouring roars
With thundering billows on his rocky shores,
Whence Anio's and Caicus' copious urns,
Whence bull-fac'd Po adorn'd with gilded horns,
Than whom no river, thro' such level meads
Down to the sea with swifter torrents speeds.
Now to the vaulted chamber was he come,
Where hanging pumice form'd an awful dome;
When fond Cyrene ask'd him of his woe,
And whence those bitter tears began to flow.

373

The sisters, water from the purest spring,
And towels soft, with haste officious bring;
Prepare full bowls, and heap up choicest meats;
The altars blaze with rich Arabian sweets.
Of Lydian wine, she cry'd, these goblets take,
To Ocean let us due libations make;
At once to Ocean old, in ritual lays,
Parent of all things, she devoutly prays;
And to the sister nymphs, whose gentle sway
An hundred groves, an hundred streams obey;
Thrice o'er the fire the liquid nectar throws,
Thrice to the shining roof the flames arose.
She thus—with that auspicious omen fir'd—
In the Carpathian gulf there dwells retir'd
The prophet Proteus; o'er the wat'ry way,
Whose car the finny, two-legg'd steeds convey:
Now to his distant country he resorts,
Emathia seeking, and Pallene's ports;
The sea-nymphs this caerulean seer adore,
And him reveres ev'n hallow'd Nereus hoar;
All things he knows, tho' hid in time's dark womb,
What is, what long is past, and what shall come:
So Neptune will'd; whose monstrous herds he keeps,
Of squalid calves, beneath the rolling deeps.
Him must thou chain, and force him to disclose
The cause and cure of thy distracting woes.
Nought he'll unfold, except the god thou bind,
Nor prayers, nor tears can move his stedfast mind.
With force and chains, my son, his limbs surround,
These can alone his treacherous wiles confound.
When the parcht herbage fades with mid-day heat,
And fainting cattle to cool shades retreat,

375

Myself will lead thee to the close abode,
Where stretcht in slumber, thou may'st seize the god.
Instant he'll try, elusive of the rape,
The varied force of every savage shape;
Become a bristly boar, or tyger fell,
Or like a scaly bloated dragon swell;
Like a gaunt lion shake a tawny mane,
Or in loud crackling fire escape thy chain;
Or while thou closely grasp'st thy fraudful prey,
Chang'd to a flowing stream glide swift away.
Yet still retentive with redoubled might,
Thro' each vain fleeting form constrain his flight;
Till the same shape, all changes past, appear,
That e'er the senior slept, thou saw'st him wear.
She spoke, and o'er him rich ambrosia shed,
With liquid odours bath'd his breathing head,
And thro' his glowing limbs celestial vigour spread.
Deep in the mountain lies a spacious cave,
Worn by the workings of the restless wave,
Whither vast waters drive before the wind,
And shatter'd ships commodious shelter find.
There, far within a grot, old Proteus dwells,
And draws a vast rock o'er his secret cells.
She plac'd her son beneath the darksome roof,
Herself, involv'd in clouds, retires aloof.
Now rabid Sirius scorcht the gasping plains,
And burnt intense the panting Indian swains;
In his 'mid course the sun all fiery stood,
Parcht was the grass, the rivers bak'd to mud;
When Proteus, weary of the waters, sought
The cool retirement of his 'custom'd grott;

377

The finny race exulting round him play,
And in wild gambols dash the bitter spray,
The scaly phocae, sunk in sleep profound,
Along the shore their guardian god surround.
He (like a peasant skill'd the herds to keep,
When evening homeward warns the calves and sheep,
When hungry wolves, with pleasure listening, hear,
And mark for prey, the lambs that bleat from far)
With watchful eyes, high seated on a rock,
Reviews and counts the numbers of his flock.
The lucky youth with this occasion blest,
Just as the seer compos'd his limbs to rest,
Rush'd on him with a mighty threatening sound,
And fast, the weary, slumbering senior bound.
He, every various art dissembling tries,
And many a monster's direful shape belies;
Roars horrid like a prowling savage, glows
Like crackling fire, or like a river flows;
But when no fraud could further his escape,
He spoke, return'd to human voice and shape:
Rash youth! who bade thee to my court repair
With impious boldness? what thou seek'st, declare!
O Proteus! well thou know'st the cause, he cry'd,
Nought from thy piercing eyes can mortals hide;
Obedient to the gods, I seek to know
What fate decrees, and how to heal my woe.
The prophet, while his bosom boil'd with ire,
And while his green eyes shot indignant fire,
Gnashing his teeth, with fury in his look,
Compell'd, at length, the fates disclosing, spoke:
Thou suffer'st for atrocious crimes—on thee
Falls the just vengeance of a deity;

379

Unhappy Orpheus on thy guilt hath sent,
And more dost thou deserve, this punishment;
And more shalt feel, unless by fate deny'd,
For still he rages for his murder'd bride.
She from thy arms, by headlong fear misled,
Swift o'er the river's verdant margin fled;
Nor at her feet the fated fair descry'd
The dreadful snake that kept its grassy side.
But with loud shrieks hersister-dryads moan'd,
And high Pangaea's utmost mountains groan'd;
Their cries to Rhodope and Thrace were borne,
The Getae, Hebrus, Orithyïa mourn.
He on the desart shore all lonely griev'd,
And with his concave shell his love-sick heart reliev'd;
To thee, sweet wife, still pour'd the piteous lay,
Thee, sung at dawning, thee at closing day!

381

Ev'n hell's wide jaws he ventur'd to explore,
Deep gates of Dis, and Death's tremendous shore;
Down to the Manes went, and chearless plains,
The grove where horror frowns, and hell's dread monarch reigns;
Obdurate hearts! to whom unmov'd by woes
Pray'rs plead in vain, and sorrow useless flows.
Struck with his song, from Erebus profound,
Thin flitting ghosts, and spirits flock'd around;
Thick as the birds to leafy groves descend,
When evening clouds, or wintry storms impend;
Mothers and husbands, heroes' awful shades,
Sweet infant boys, and pure unmarried maids,
Youths whose fond parents saw their bloom expire,
And sorrowing plac'd them on the funeral pyre;
Whom black Cocytus' sullen waters bound,
Foul shores of mud with reeds unsightly crown'd,
And the nine streams of winding Styx around.
Ev'n these dread mansions listen'd with amaze;
With awe, death's deepest dungeons heard his lays;
Struck were the snake-crown'd Furies, Cerberus shews
His jaws wide-gaping, yet in act to close;
A pause of rest the sad Ixion found,
His wheel stopt sudden at the powerful sound.
And now at length no farther toil remain'd,
The upper air Eurydice regain'd,
Behind she came, so Proserpine ordain'd:
When strait a frenzy the fond lover caught,
(Could Hell forgive, 'twas sure a venial fault)
Ev'n on life's confines, too, too weak of mind,
He stopt, alas! and cast one look behind.

383

Fell Pluto's terms he broke! his hopes were lost!
A groan thrice echoed o'er Avernus' coast.
Ah! who destroys us both, she sadly cry'd,
What madness, Orpheus, tears thee from thy bride?
The cruel fates force me again away!
My swimming eyes no more discern the day;
Adieu! no longer must thou bless my sight—
I go! I sink! involv'd in thickest night!
In vain I stretch my feeble arms to join
Thy fond embrace; ah! now no longer thine!
Swift from his ardent gaze, while thus she spoke,
She vanish'd into air, like subtile smoke,
And left him catching at her empty ghost,
Desiring much to say, in speechless sorrow lost:
The rigid ferryman of hell no more
Would deign to waft him to the gloomy shore:
What should he do? where turn? how seek relief?
Twice lost his consort, how appease his grief?
How move the Manes, with what doleful note?
She sail'd, already cold, in Charon's boat.
For seven long months, by desart Strymon's side,
Beneath a lofty rock, he mourn'd his bride,
And stretcht in gelid caverns, with his song
Made tygers tame, and drew hard oaks along.
As Philomel in poplar shades, alone,
For her lost offspring pours a mother's moan,
Which some rough ploughman marking for his prey,
From the warm nest, unfledg'd, hath stol'n away,
Percht on a bough, she all night long complains,
And fills the grove with sad repeated strains.

385

No second fair, no nuptial rites could move,
Nought soften his distracted mind to love:
The Hyperborean ice he wander'd o'er,
And solitary roam'd round Tanais' shore,
And Scythia's desarts of eternal frost,
Lamenting his lost bride, and Pluto's favours lost.
The Thracian dames enrag'd to be despis'd,
As Bacchus' midnight feasts they solemniz'd,
Inspir'd with frantic fury seiz'd the swain,
And strew'd his mangled carcase o'er the plain:
His pale head from his ivory shoulders torn,
Adown Oeagrian Hebrus' tide was borne;
As in the rapid waves it roll'd along,
Ev'n then with faultering voice and feeble tongue,
To name his poor Eurydice he try'd,
Eurydice, with parting breath he cry'd,
Eurydice! the rocks and echoing shores reply'd.
He spoke—and 'mid the waves his body hurl'd,
About his head the foaming waters curl'd.
Not so Cyrene—to asswage his fears,
My son, she cries, allay thy restless cares;
Behold the cause of all this dire disease;
The nymphs have sent destruction on thy bees,
With whom Eurydice was wont t'advance,
And lead in lofty groves the sacred dance.
Thou suppliant offer gifts, and sue for peace,
The mild Napaeans will their anger cease;

387

But hear me first in order due declare,
The means to sooth their rage, and frame thy pray'r:
Select four large and beauteous bulls that crop
Thy verdant pastures on Lyceaus' top,
Four heifers too, that ne'er have plough'd the field,
Four altars in the Dryads' temples build;
From the slain victims pour the sacred blood,
And leave their bodies in the shady wood:
When the ninth morn o'er dewy hills shall spring,
To Orpheus' ghost Lethean poppies bring;
With a black ewe Eurydice adore,
And shed for her a victim-heifer's gore:
Revisit then the grove.—Without delay
He speeds his mother's precepts to obey;
Hastes to the temple, there his altars builds,
Four bulls, four heifers leads, that ne'er had plough'd the fields:
At the ninth morning's dawn, to Orpheus bears
Th'appointed gifts, and to the grove repairs:
When lo! a wond'rous prodigy they found,
An host of bees rush'd forth with humming sound,
By the slain bullocks' putrid bowels form'd,
From whose burst sides, in clouds immense they swarm'd;
Then from a tree's high top, conglob'd depend,
Whose branches with the bellying cluster bend.
Thus, have I sung the labours of the swain,
Of trees, of flocks, of cattle and of grain;
While mighty Caesar to Euphrates bears
His conquering arms, the thunder of his wars;
To all the willing world new laws decrees;
And ardent presses on, th'Olympian heights to seize.

389

Then me, Parthenope's soft pleasures blest,
And learned leisure and less glorious rest;
Who warm in youth, once sung the shepherds loves,
Sung thee, O Tityrus, stretcht beneath the beechen groves.
The End of the Fourth Georgic.
 

Ver. 1. Honey.] The poet calls honey aërial and heavenly, according to the opinion of the old philosophers, who believed that it was derived from the dew of heaven. This heavenly dew they thought was received by the flowers, and thence gathered by the bees, Every reader of taste perceives how Virgil exalts and dignifies these wonderful insects, by ascribing to them thro' this whole book, the manners, passions, and actions of men. I have before said, that the characteristic of this book is elegance, and of the former, sublimity. Virgil has borrowed most of his observations upon bees from Varro, and Aristotle's treatise of animals. Modern philosophy has cleared up many mistakes which these ancients fell into, with regard to bees and other animals.

12. Sportful lambkin.] Which puts me in mind of those sweet lines of Euripides, Hippol. Coron. 73.

Σοι τονδε πλεκτον στεφανον εξ ακηρατο
Λειμνος, ω δεσποινα, κοσμησας φερω,
Ενθ ουτε ποιμην αξιοι φερβειν βοτα,
Ουδ ηλθε πω σιδηρος, αλλ ακηρατον
Μελια λειμων ηρινον διερχεται.

An author (whose meanest praise is his critical taste and judgment) instead of ηρινον in the last verse, would read ηρινος the vernal bee. Jortin on Ecclesiastical Hist. 387. vol. 2.

16. The merops.] Apiaster, or Bee-eater, is shaped like a king-fisher. It is about the size of a black-bird. Progne the daughter of Pandion was turned into a swallow, which has the feathers of its breast stained with red.

23. Palm.] Dr. Martyn observes that the palm-tree is of several sorts; but believes the species cultivated in Italy (and consequently that meant in this place) to be the date tree.

30. Willows.] In the original tranversas salices. Varro would have a small stream near the apiary not above 2 or 3 fingers deep, with several shells or small stones standing a little above the surface of the water, that the bees may drink.

36. Savoury.] The thymbra of the ancients is generally thought, says Dr. Martyn, to be some species of satureia, or savoury. Serpyllum is wild thyme. Cassia is not rosemary, as some have supposed.

56. The red'ning crabs.] This must sound very odd to modern readers. The Romans were wont to burn crabs to ashes, and used them as a remedy for scalds and burns.

61. The poet proceeds to speak of the swarming of bees, and points out the method of making them settle.

77. Cerinth, &c.] Trita melisphylla, et cerinthae ignobile gramen, says the original. Dr. Martyn, who is very accurate and full in explaining the botanical part of the Georgics, says, that the first plant seems to be a contraction of melissophyllon; and that the description of it agrees very well with the melissa or baum, a common herb in the English gardens. Cerinthe (which is derived from κηριον, a honey-comb) is the cerinthe flavo fiore asperior, or yellow flowered honey-wort. The stalks are about the thickness of one's finger, round, smooth, whiteish, and divided into several branches. The leaves embrace the stalks and branches with their bases, and diminish gradually to a point. They are of a bluish colour marked with white spots, set on both sides with prickles, and neatly indented. Dr. Martyn in his quarto edition has given a beautiful print of the cerinthe finely coloured.

78. Cymbals,] Tinitusque cie, &c. This custom is still used. Aristotle mentions it likewise, and questions whether they hear or not, and whether it be delight or fear that causes the bees to be quieted with such noises. For my own part I believe it to be of no manner of service in this case. Martyn.

85. Hosts to arms.] This battle is described with as much spirit and strength, and the fury of the combatants is painted in terms as bold and majestic, as if it were an engagement between the greatest heroes. One cannot but observe how Virgil exalts his bees by giving them all the warlike apparatus of a Roman army. Such are the expressions.—Aeris rauci canor, spicula, and praetoria, magnisque vocant clamoribus hostem, per medias acies, erumpunt portis— concurritur.

115. Spits from parch'd lips.] 'Tis observable that this is the only low, or droll image, that Virgil hath admitted into the Georgics; so careful was he of keeping up a dignity and majesty throughout his poem.

144. Teach Paestum's.] We learn from Servius, that Paestum is a town in Calabria, where the roses blow twice a year.

145. How celeri.] These exquisite lines make us wish the poet had enlarged upon the subject of gardening. We have no poem on it but an insipid one of F. Rapin, written in pure Latin indeed, but with no poetical spirit, and indeed I think not comparable to an old fragment of Columella on this subject. Considering the many great improvements made in this science, perhaps the garden is the properest and most fruitful subject for a didactic poem of any whatsoever. Especially as this art hath been lately so much improv'd by Mr. Kent, who with great taste banished the regular, strait walks, Dutch work, and unnatural uniformity, formerly so much admir'd.

151. Once.] Who that reads this, says Dr Trapp, despises not the wealth, and pities not the persons of all the great ones upon earth?

158. Lillies.] The original is, albaque circum lilia. Tho' the white lilly be the most common species of that flower, among us, yet it was the most celebrated, and best known among the ancients. Thus Virgil does not produce the epithet alba in this place, without reason. In other passages our poet has taken care to insist on the whiteness of the lilly; as in Aen. lib. 12.

------ Mixta rubent ubi lilia multa
Alba rosa. ------

And Aen. 6.

------ Candida circum
Lilia funduntur. ------
&c. See Martyn.

170. Pines.] Columella observes that limes are hurtful to bees, but mentions the pine as agreeable to them.

175. Planes.] This relates to the Corycians having the art of removing even large trees.

177.] Columella has endeavoured to supply what Virgil has here omitted concerning gardens, in a poem on that subject, which gives us room to wish Virgil had wrote it on this subject.

180. King.] The poet here insinuates, that Jupiter gave the bees a degree of reason, as a reward for their feeding him, when an infant, with honey, while he was conceal'd in a cave from his father Saturn.

198. Intent and watchful.] Vaniere, in his book on the management of bees, relates the following extraordinary circumstance, which he says he takes from M. Maraldi, Histoire de l' Academie Royale de Sciences, 16 Nov. 1712. sur les abeilles, p. 299.

Excutias vigilum fallens, impune penates
Cum semel intrasset limax cornutus, eosque
Turparet fluidae crasso lentore salivae;
Obstupuere domi gerulum, stimulisque frequentes
Invasere fero retrahentem corpus ab ictu,
Seque suæ vallo testae, spumisque tegentem;
Irrita jam cum tela forent; apis advocat artes
Ingeniosa suas; et cerae prodiga totam
Incrustat cochleam; monsirum fatale recondens
Hoc veluti tumulo, ne tetrum afflaret odorem.
Praedii Rustici, lib. 14. p. 257.

This is an instance, if it be true, of more astonishing sagacity than any mentioned by Virgil.

205. Cyclops.] Mr. Pope observes with fine taste on this passage: “That the use of the grand style on little subjects, is not only ludicrous, but a sort of transgression against the rules of proportion and mechanics: I believe, now I am upon this head, it will be found a just observation, that the low actions of life cannot be put into a figurative style without being ridiculous, but things natural can. Metaphors raise the latter into dignity, as we see in the Georgics; but throw the former into ridicule, as in the Lutrin. I think this may be very well accounted for; laughter implies censure; inanimate and irrational beings are not objects of censure; therefore these may be elevated as much as you please, and no ridicule follows: but when rational beings are represented above their real character, it becomes ridiculous in art, because it is vicious in morality. The bees in Virgil, were they rational beings, would be ridiculous, by having their actions represented on a level with creatures so superior as men; since it would imply folly or pride, which are the proper objects of ridicule.” Pope, Postscript to the Odyssey.

236. Enfeebling joys of love.] Vaniere, who received new lights on this subject from the observations of modern philosophers, describes the queen laying her eggs in the following manner:

Explorans paritura toros regina paratos;
Inserit alvelis caput, ut quae nixibus edet,
Unis ova parens deponat singula nidis.
Circumstat stipata cohors, uteroque dolentem
Reginam mulcet pennis; et murmure blando
Hortatur duros partus tolerare labores.
Illa retro gradiens, averso corpore nidos,
Ingreditur; parientem abdit sexangula cera;
Turba ministra, tamen pennes limina tensas
Explicat, obducens faetae quasi vela parenti,
Virginibus tantum pudor atque modestia cordi est.
Praedii Rustici, lib. 14. pag. 260.

237. Bear.] The modern philosophers are much better acquainted with the nature of insects, than were Aristotle or Theophrastus, from whom Virgil borrowed largely in his account of bees. They assert and prove that no animal (nay no plant) is produced without a concurrence of the two sexes, and that consequently equivocal generation is an idle and most groundless opinion: See Redi de insectis. With regard to the generation of bees, I shall present the reader with a large but entertaining extract from a French author lately publish'd. The matter of the treatise is taken from the works of the learned Mr. Maraldi, and Mr. de Reaumer, and is flung into a very sprightly dialogue.

It begins with a general view of the hive. The glass hive represents a city of sixteen or eighteen thousand inhabitants. This city is a monarchy, consisting of a queen, of grandees, soldiers, artizans, porters, houses, streets, gates, magazines, and a most strict civil policy. The queen dwells in a palace in the inner part of the city; some of the cells (which run perpendicular from the top of the hive) are larger than the rest, and belong to those, who after the queen, hold the first rank in the commonwealth; the others are inhabited by the common people. The cells are all publick buildings, which belong to the society in common; for among this people there is no meum nor tuum. Some cells are close magazines for a store of honey; others for the daily nourishment of the labouring bees; others are destin'd to receive eggs, and to lodge the worm from which the young bee springs.

In the hive there is usually but one queen, six or eight hundred, or even a thousand males called drones, and from fifteen to sixteen thousand or upwards, of bees without sex, who carry on the whole policy and manufacture of the hive. The mother-bee, or the queen-mother, is the soul of the community, and but for her, every thing would languish; when she is secreted from the hive, the other bees lose all care of posterity, and make neither honey nor wax, so that the city soon becomes desolate and empty.—The rest of the bees pay her the most dutiful respect, and follow her whereever she goes, or is carried from home. Her subjects perform their several functions without any instructions, and without giving her the least trouble. Her only business is to people the hive; and this she fulfils so perfectly, as well to deserve the most honourable of all political titles, that of Parent of her country. To merit the love of her subjects, 'tis necessary she should produce from ten to twelve thousand children in the space of seven weeks, and one year with another, from thirty to forty thousand. She is easily distinguish'd from the other bees, by the form of her body, which is longer and slenderer. Her wings are shorter, in proportion to her length: in the other bees, they cover the whole body; in her, they terminate about half way, at the third ring of her trunk. She has like the rest, a sting and bladder of poison; but is with much more difficulty provoked to use them; though when she does, the wound is larger and much more painful.

The drones, or the thousand husbands of this single queen, are found in the hive only from the beginning of May to the end of July. Their number increases every day during that space of time, and is greatest when the queen is breeding; in a few days after which period they die a violent death. Their way of living is very different from the rest: for excepting the single moment when they pay their duty to the queen, they are quite idle, and enjoy a most luxurious fare; being fed only with the finest honey, whereas the common bees live in a great measure upon wax. These go out early in the morning, and don't return till they are loaded with honey and wax, for the good of the society: The drones, on the contrary, don't go abroad till about eleven o'clock to take the air, and return punctually before six at night. They have no stings, nor those long elastic teeth with which the other bees work up the honey; nor those kind of hollows, which serve them for baskets to bring it home to the hive. The other bees, or the manufacturers (as we may call them) have an infinite number of strange particularities about them, of which we can only impart a few to the reader.

Their head seems triangular, and the point of the triangle is formed by the meeting of two long elastic teeth, which are concave on the inside. In the second and third pair of their legs, is a part called the brush, of a square figure, with its outward surface polish'd and sleek, and its inward hairy, like a common brush. With these two instruments they prepare their wax and honey. The materials of their wax lie in the form of dust, upon the amina of flowers. When the bee would gather this dust, she enters into the flower, and takes it up by means of her brush, to which it easily adheres. She comes out all covered with it, sometimes yellow, sometimes red, or according to the native colour of the dust. If this dust be inclosed in the Capsulae of a flower, she pierces the Capsulae, with her long moveable teeth, and then she gathers it. When it is quite loaded with dust, she rubs herself to collect it, and rolls it up in a little mass. Sometimes she performs this part of her business by the way; sometimes she stays till she comes to the hive. As soon as it is formed into a ball about the size of a grain of pepper, she lodges it in her basket, and returns home with a joy proportionable to the quantity she brings. The honey of the bees is found in the same place with the wax. It is lodged in little reservoirs, placed at the bottom of the flower,

241. Rugged rocks.] These lines in the original are certainly misplaced; they seem to come in more properly, says Martyn, after ver. 196 of the original. I am indebted for this observation to the learned Sir Daniel Molyneux, Bart. F. R. S.

227. Taygetae.] Virgil in speaking of the rising of the Pleiades, speaks of them in the singular number, and that personally.

Taygete simul os terris ostendit honestum
Pleias ------

'Tis probable, that on the ancient globes this was a distinct constellation from Taurus, and represented by one of the sisters only, that named by Virgil. Aratus and Erastothenes both speak of it as distinct from Taurus; and the latter calls it Πλειας, and not Πλειαδες. Spence.

279. Die upon.] It is said to be a vulgar error, that bees lose their lives with their stings. Martyn.

280. Winter.] He now proceeds regularly to tell us, how to manage those hives in which the honey is left for supporting the bees through the winter, and likewise enumerates the particular vermin, and plagues that infest them.

326. But should,] The poet having already spoken of the ways of driving noxious animals from the bees, and of the method of curing their diseases; now proceeds to describe the manner after which the total loss of them may be repaired; which, he tells us was practiced by the Egyytians. Martyn.

333. Canopus.] The commentators are prodigiously divided about the meaning of these four verses. Dr. Martyn takes Virgil to mean only a description of the Delta or lower Egypt. Canopus is the west angle of that triangular region; Pelusium is the east angle, being nearest to Persia, and the south angle is the point where the Nile is divided to form the Delta. Δ. The circumstance,

Circum pictis vehitur sua rura phaselis

is a very agreeable picture of that country, which during the inundation of the Nile resembles a vast level lake.

340. Green Egypt.] The Nile is the greatest wonder of Egypt. As it seldom rains there, this river, which waters the whole country by its regular inundations, supplies that defect, by bringing, as a yearly tribute, the rains of other countries; which made a poet say iugeniously, The Egyptian pastures, how great foever the drought may be, never implore Jupiter for rain.

Te propter nullos tellus tua postulat imbres,
Arida nec pluvio supplicat herba Jovi.

To multiply so beneficent a river, Egypt was cut into numberless canals, of a length and breadth proportioned to the different situation and wants of the lands. The Nile brought fertility every where with its salutary streams; united cities one with another, and the Mediterranean with the Red sea; maintained trade at home and abroad, and fortified the kingdom against the enemy; so that it was at once the nourisher and protector of Egypt. The fields were delivered up to it; but the cities that were raised with immense labour, and stood like islands in the midst of the waters, look down with joy on the plains which were overflowed, and at the same time enriched by the Nile.

This is a general idea of the nature and effects of this river, so famous among the ancients.

There cannot be a finer sight than it affords at two seasons of the year. For if a man ascends some mountain, or one of the largest pyramids of Grand Cairo, in the months of July and August, he beholds a vast sea, in which numberless towns and villages appear, with several causeys leading from place to place, the whole interspers'd with groves and fruit trees, whose tops are only visible, all which forms a delightful prospect. This view is bounded by mountains and woods, which terminate, at the utmost distance the eye can discover, the most beautiful horizon that can be imagined. On the contrary, in winter, that is to say, in the months of January and February, the whole country is like one continued scene of beautiful meadows, whose verdure enamell'd with flowers charms the eye. The spectator beholds, on every side, flocks and herds dispersed over all the plains, with infinite numbers of husbandmen and gardeners. The air is then perfumed by the great quantity of blossoms on the orange, lemon, and other trees; and is so pure, that a wholsomer and more agreeable is not found in the world: so that nature, being then dead, as it were, in all other climates, seems to be alive only for so delightful an abode. Rollin's Ancient History, page 13, 8 vo, 1749.

355. Zephyris primum in the original. This little description of the spring diversifies the subject, and enlivens the dryness of the preceding paragraph.

360. Begin to boil.] Nothing can be expressed in a livelier manner, than this generation of the bees;

Interea teneris tepefactus in ossibus humor.

Such lines as these on a low and indeed a gross subject, shew Virgil's prodigious command of language; the two similes at the end add an ornament and an elegance likewise to the passage. It must be observed, that insects cannot be generated by putrefaction; carcases are only a proper nidus and receptacle for their young: and therefore, says Dr. Martyn, the female parent chuses there to lay her eggs, that the warmth of the fermenting juices may help to hatch them.

See Redi de Insectis.

395. Ligea, Xantho] There are but eighteen nymphs mentioned by Virgil in this account of Cyrene's grotto; including Clymene and Cyrene herself; of which passage Mr. Dryden says, The poet here records the names of fifty river nymphs, and for once I have translated them all. Polymetis, page 316. note 46.

406. Vulcan's fruitless cares.] Some of the graver critics make an observation, which the ladies must needs think unjust and satyrical. When Dido gives a feast to Aeneas, her physician Iopas entertains the company, which were chiefly composed of men and strangers, with a song on a philsophical subject. But, say they, where Virgil introduces a nymph singing to her mistress Cyrene, and to her fellow virgins, she describes to them the loves of Mars and Venus: the dulcia furta were the subject that sweetened their labours at the loom. The poet hints at the topics which employ the conversation of the ladies when they are alone by themselves. The commentators, who make such unfair reflections, must doubtless be a set of ill-bred, abusive fellows, that know very little of the world, and less of the ladies.

423. River.] The descent of Aristaeus into the earth, is founded on an ancient superstition of the Egyptians. Servius tells us, that on certain days sacred to the Nile, boys born of holy parents, were delivered to the nymphs by the priests; who, when they were grown up, and returned back, reported, that there were groves under the earth, and an immense water containing all things, and from whence every thing is procreated.

432. Deep.] This is one of the most sublime passages in Virgil. Nothing can strike the imagination more strongly, than to conceive a person entering the bowels of the earth, and at once hearing and seeing the most celebrated rivers in the world bursting forth from their several sources. The rough and more amazing scenes of rocks, caves, and altars which Aristaeus passes thro', are at last finely softened by the kind reception he meets with from his mother, and the beautiful appearance of the nymphs spinning and singing the loves of the gods. Fracastorius has a descent into the earth in search of metals, where, no doubt, he had Virgil in his eye; and in which he has been followed by Dr. Garth.

438. Eridanus—the Po.] This passage cannot be better explained than by quoting the following words from Mr. Spence in his Polymetis:

“But there is another thing in it, with which I am not yet satisfied; and that is, Virgil's calling the Po here, the most violent of all rivers. I know one of the most celebrated and most ingenious writers of our age has endeavoured to soften this, by understanding it only of the rivers in Italy. But, (not to enquire at all whether the Po be really the most violent of all the rivers in Italy) how can Virgil be understood of the rivers of one country only, where he is expresly speaking of all the rivers of the world? and of one common point, from whence all their sources were anciently supposed to be derived?

“I am not quite clear as to that expression, replied Polymetis: but to answer you as far as I can, I must give you the opinion of a man whom you both know; and whose name I need not mention to you, when I have told you it is the person who understands Virgil in a more masterly manner, than perhaps any one in this age. It is his opinion, (with all that modesty, with which he generally offers his opinions) that the difficulty you mention may possibly be got over, by the expression joined with it; per pinguia culta. The most violent rivers in the world are such as run, or fall, through a chain of mountains; and (not to speak of any of the Apennine rivers, or rather torrents, in Italy itself) the Isar which we cross so often in the two or three last days journey before we enter Italy, is (in all that part of its course,) much more violent and more disturbed than the Po: but the Po, you know, very soon after its source, flows on thro' the vale of Piedmont, and afterwards traverses all the rich vale of Lombardy. These are the pinguia culta, which Virgil speaks of: almost the whole course of the Po is through such rich low ground: and perhaps there may not be any river in the world, which has almost all its course through so fat and rich a soil, which is so violent as the Po is.

Polymetis, Dial. 14, p. 232.

454. An hundred groves.] I follow the sense given to this passage in the Arcadia del Sannazaro, Prosa 10.

459. Proteus.] This fable of Proteus is imitated by Virgil, from the fourth book of the Odyssey; where Menelaus is sent to consult the same deity, by the advice and assistance of his own daughter Eidothea.

509. Spray.] The circumstance of these monsters scattering the spray of the sea about them, greatly enlivens this beautiful sea-piece,

512. Like a peasant.] Virgil has imitated Homer so nicely in his adventure with Proteus, that he has not forgot this simile of the shepherd, in his copy. Lupos acuunt is wonderfully expressive, and short.

548. But with loud shrieks.] Virgil does not at length describe the serpents stinging and killing Eurydice. This from the pen of a lesser genius, would have taken up twenty lines. He contents himself with saying—alta non vidit herba; and adds immediately,

At chorus aequalis Dryadum.

554. To thee.] There are few things in the ancient poetry more moving than the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. It hath acquired new beauties by falling into the hands of the tender and passionate Virgil; and is told by him in so melting a strain, that some of the touches he hath given it can hardly be read without tears. When we are wrought up to such a temper, it naturally leads us to compassionate the hard fate of the unhappy lovers; and we begin to feel some indignation at the captious condition, upon which he was to possess his beauty, or lose her for ever: not to look at his loved Eurydice. Arbitrary and capricious! unbefitting the just brother of Jove, and unlike the bounties of a divine, unenvious nature: unless indeed there be something else understood than appears: some truth in life or morals that lies latent under this circumstance of the tale.

The great and unhappy Lord Verulam, who was sensible of the incongruity, has given an explication of the fable; but seems not to have hit upon the real meaning. What he says is entertaining and beautiful: for he was a spirit of that high order that go ingeniously wrong, and who cannot err without instruction. But I incline to think that the moral of the fiction is rather to be learned at an ordinary music-meeting, or an unmeaning opera, than, where his lordship direct us, in the recesses of an abstruse philosophy.

Orpheus's mistress was music. The powers of it are enchanting. It lulls the reason, and raises the fancy in so agreeable a manner, that we forget ourselves while it lasts. The mind turns dissolute and gay, and hugs itself in all the deluding prospects and fond wishes of a golden dream. Whilst every accent is warbled over by a charming voice, a silly song appears sound morality, and the very words of the opera pass for sense, in presence of their accompagnament. But no sooner does the music cease, than the charm is undone, and the fancies disappear. The first sober look we take off it breaks the spell; and we are hurried back with some regret to the common dull road of life, when the florid illusion is vanish'd. Blackwall's enquiry concerning the life and writings of Homer, Sect. 11.

585. He stopt—and cast.] The philosophic goddess of Boethius having related the story of Orpheus, who when he had recovered his wife from the dominions of death, lost her again by looking back upon her in the confines of light, concludes with a very elegant and forcible application; Whoever you are that endeavour to elevate your mind to the illuminations of heaven, consider yourselves as represented in this fable; for he that is once so far overcome, as to turn back his eye towards the infernal caverns, loses, at the first sight, all that influence that attracted him on high.

Vos haec fabula respicit,
Quicunque in superum diem,
Mentem ducere quaeritis.
Nam qui tartareum in specus,
Victus lumina flexerit,
Quicquid praecipuum trahit,
Perdit, dum videt inferos.
The Rambler, Numb. 178.

587. Thrice echoed.]—Terque fragor stagnis auditus Avernis, says the original very finely. A certain dismal and hollow sound was heard through the vaults of hell. Some imagine, but I think groundlessly, that it was the shout of ghosts rejoicing for Eurydice's return. Surely the other sense is far the more poetical and more strongly imagined.

610. As Philomel.] Is not Proteus too great a poet in this simile?

633. He spoke.] Though the episode of Orpheus and Eurydice be so admirable in itself, that we thank the poet for having introduced it at any rate: yet, after all is it not stitch'd in a little inartificially? Is it to be conceived that Proteus, who, being made a prisoner, and speaking by constraint, is in no very good humour, should tell this long story (which is not very material to the point neither) to entertain Aristaeus, who has offered that violence to him? Was it not enough to inform him, that his misfortune was occasioned by Eurydice's death, without telling all these circumstances consequent of it? Perhaps it may be reply'd, that it is more material to the point than is commonly imagined. These consequences greatly aggravate the guilt of Aristaeus; and so it was proper enough, if not absolutely necessary, to recite them. Whether this answer be sufficient, or not, I neither know, nor much care. Be it as it will, I would not lose this episode, to be the author of all the best criticisms that ever were, or shall be, written upon the classics. Trapp.

663. Putrid bowels.] Observe how the poet has varied his expressions on a subject so difficult to be ornamentally expressed as this birth of the bees, for,

------ liquefacta boum per viscera toto ------
------ et ruptis effervere costis ------ &c.

is quite newly expressed from what it was before in the passage above, Interea teneris tepefactus in ossibus humor .

673. Parthenope.] There may be a propriety in this that is not generally remarked. Naples was a town of indolence and pleasure, and was therefore, as some suppose, said to have been founded by Parthenope one of the Sirens, who were goddesses of indolence and pleasure:

Improba siren
Desidia ------ ------
Otiosa Neapolis.
Hor.

This idea too makes the contrast between Augustus and Virgil much the stronger. Spence.

673. Then me.] I cannot forbear being of opinion that the four concluding lines of the Georgics, illo Virgilium, &c. &c. are of the same stamp and character with the four justly exploded ones, which are prefixed to the Aeneid. Audaxque juventa is, I think, an expression entirely unworthy of Virgil, and a mere botch. Besides nothing can be a more complete and sublime conclusion than that compliment to Augustus —Viamque affectat Olympo.

676. Groves.] Each book of Virgil's Georgics is in a different stile (or has a different colouring) from all the rest. That of the first is plain; of the second, various; of the third, grand; and of the fourth, pleasing. Holdsworth.