University of Virginia Library


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;

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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:

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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.

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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.