 | The eclogues and georgics of Virgil (1753) |  |
BOOK I.
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.
Who lead the sliding year around the sky!
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,
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;
Now, now assume the god, and learn to hear our pray'rs.
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.
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.
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.
While the light stubble, crackling, flames around:
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.
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.
A winter calm and dry; a solstice wet;
The happiest covering for the bury'd grain;
Hence matchless harvests Mysia boasting reaps,
And Gargarus admires his unexpected heaps.
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.
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!
To yoke the steer, to turn the furrow taught;
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.
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.
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.
And bends with luxury of flow'rs his boughs;
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.
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.
When rise the Kids, when the bright Dragon shines,
Near Pontus, or Abydos' oyster'd coast.
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.
Their full-ear'd hope mock'd with a flattering stem.
Nor scorn to bid Aegyptian lentils grow,
Signs, not obscure, Boötes, setting yields,
Begin, and sow, thro' half the frosts, thy fields.
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
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 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;
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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,
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.
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;
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.
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.
From Eurus' house to west, when pealing thunders roll,
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.
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,
New images and passions fill their breast:
Hence the glad birds in louder concert join,
Hence croaks th'exulting rook, and sport the kine.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
And Romulus, and thou, chaste Vesta, hear!
Ye, who preserve with your propitious powers,
Etrurian Tiber, and the Roman towers!
(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.
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.
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.
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.
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 melleArgenti 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.
| The eclogues and georgics of Virgil (1753) | |