 | The works Of Hesiod |  |
45
BOOK II.
The ARGUMENT.
In this book the poet instructs his countrymen in the arts of agriculture, and navigation, and in the management of the vintage: he illustrates the work with rural descriptions, and concludes with several religious precepts, founded on the custom and manners of his age.
When the Pleïades, of Atlas born,
Before the sun's arise illume the morn,
Apply the sickle to the ripen'd corn;
And when, attendant on the sun's decline,
They in the ev'ning æther only shine,
Then is the season to begin to plow,
To yoke the oxen, and prepare to sow:
There is a time when forty days they ly,
And forty nights, conceal'd from human eye,
But in the courfe of the revolving year,
When the swain sharps the scythe, again appear.
This is the rule to the laborious swain,
Who dwells or near, or distant from, the main,
Whether the shady vale receives his toil,
And he manures the fat, the inland, soil.
Before the sun's arise illume the morn,
Apply the sickle to the ripen'd corn;
And when, attendant on the sun's decline,
They in the ev'ning æther only shine,
46
To yoke the oxen, and prepare to sow:
There is a time when forty days they ly,
And forty nights, conceal'd from human eye,
But in the courfe of the revolving year,
When the swain sharps the scythe, again appear.
This is the rule to the laborious swain,
Who dwells or near, or distant from, the main,
Whether the shady vale receives his toil,
And he manures the fat, the inland, soil.
Would you the fruits of all your labours see,
Or plow, or sow, or reap, still naked be;
Then shall thy barns, by Ceres bless'd, appear
Full of the various produce of the year;
Nor shall the seasons then behold thee poor,
A mean dependant on another's store.
Tho, foolish Perses, bending to thy pray'rs,
I lately hear'd thy plaints, and eas'd thy cares,
On me no longer for supplys depend,
For I no more shall give, no more shall lend.
Labour industrious, if you would succeed;
That men should labour have the gods decreed,
That with our wives and children we may live,
Without th'assistance that our neighbours give,
That we may never know the pain of mind,
To ask for succour, and no succour find:
Twice, thrice, perhaps, they may your wants supply;
But constant beggars teach them to deny;
Then wretched may you beg, and beg again,
And use the moving force of words in vain.
Such ills to shun, my counsels lay to heart;
Nor dread the debtor's chain, nor hunger's smart.
Or plow, or sow, or reap, still naked be;
Then shall thy barns, by Ceres bless'd, appear
Full of the various produce of the year;
47
A mean dependant on another's store.
Tho, foolish Perses, bending to thy pray'rs,
I lately hear'd thy plaints, and eas'd thy cares,
On me no longer for supplys depend,
For I no more shall give, no more shall lend.
Labour industrious, if you would succeed;
That men should labour have the gods decreed,
That with our wives and children we may live,
Without th'assistance that our neighbours give,
That we may never know the pain of mind,
To ask for succour, and no succour find:
Twice, thrice, perhaps, they may your wants supply;
But constant beggars teach them to deny;
Then wretched may you beg, and beg again,
And use the moving force of words in vain.
Such ills to shun, my counsels lay to heart;
Nor dread the debtor's chain, nor hunger's smart.
A house, and yoke of oxen, first provide,
A maid to guard your herds, and then a bride;
The house be furnish'd as thy need demands,
Nor want to borrow from a neighbour's hands.
While to support your wants abroad you roam,
Time glides away, and work stands still at home.
Your bus'ness ne'er defer from day to day,
Sorrows and poverty attend delay;
But lo! the careful man shall always find
Encrease of wealth according to his mind.
A maid to guard your herds, and then a bride;
48
Nor want to borrow from a neighbour's hands.
While to support your wants abroad you roam,
Time glides away, and work stands still at home.
Your bus'ness ne'er defer from day to day,
Sorrows and poverty attend delay;
But lo! the careful man shall always find
Encrease of wealth according to his mind.
When the hot season of the year is o'er
That draws the toilsome sweat from ev'ry pore,
When o'er our heads th'abated planet rolls
A shorter course, and visits distant poles,
When Jove descends in show'rs upon the plains,
And the parch'd earth is cheer'd with plenteous rains,
When human bodys feel the grateful change,
And less a burden to themselves they range,
When the tall forest sheds her foliage round,
And with autumnal verdure strews the ground,
The bole is incorrupt, the timber good;
Then whet the sounding ax to fell the wood.
That draws the toilsome sweat from ev'ry pore,
When o'er our heads th'abated planet rolls
A shorter course, and visits distant poles,
When Jove descends in show'rs upon the plains,
And the parch'd earth is cheer'd with plenteous rains,
When human bodys feel the grateful change,
And less a burden to themselves they range,
When the tall forest sheds her foliage round,
And with autumnal verdure strews the ground,
The bole is incorrupt, the timber good;
Then whet the sounding ax to fell the wood.
49
Provide a mortar three feet deep, and strong;
And let the pistil be three cubits long.
And let the pistil be three cubits long.
One foot in length next let the mallet be,
Ten spans the wain, seven feet her axeltree;
Of wood four crooked bits the wheel compose,
And give the length three spans to each of those.
Ten spans the wain, seven feet her axeltree;
Of wood four crooked bits the wheel compose,
And give the length three spans to each of those.
From hill or field the hardest holm prepare,
To cut the part in which you place the share;
Thence your advantage will be largely found,
With that your oxen long may tear the ground;
And next, the skilful husbandman to show,
Fast pin the handle to the beam below:
Let the draught-beam of sturdy oak be made,
And for the handle rob the laurel shade;
Or, if the laurel you refuse to fell,
Seek out the elm, the elm will serve as well.
Two plows are needful; one let art bestow,
And one let nature to the service bow;
If use, or accident, the first destroy,
Its fellow in the furrow'd field employ.
To cut the part in which you place the share;
Thence your advantage will be largely found,
With that your oxen long may tear the ground;
And next, the skilful husbandman to show,
Fast pin the handle to the beam below:
Let the draught-beam of sturdy oak be made,
And for the handle rob the laurel shade;
Or, if the laurel you refuse to fell,
Seek out the elm, the elm will serve as well.
Two plows are needful; one let art bestow,
And one let nature to the service bow;
50
Its fellow in the furrow'd field employ.
Yoke from the herd two sturdy males, whose age
Mature secures them from each other's rage;
For if too young they will unruly grow,
Unfinish'd leave the work, and break the plow:
These, and your labour shall the better thrive,
Let a good plowman, year'd to forty, drive;
And see the careful husbandman be fed
With plenteous morsels, and of wholesome bread:
The slave, who numbers fewer days, you'll find
Careless of work, and of a rambling mind;
Perhaps, neglectful to direct the plow,
He in one furrow twice the seed will sow.
Mature secures them from each other's rage;
For if too young they will unruly grow,
Unfinish'd leave the work, and break the plow:
These, and your labour shall the better thrive,
Let a good plowman, year'd to forty, drive;
And see the careful husbandman be fed
With plenteous morsels, and of wholesome bread:
The slave, who numbers fewer days, you'll find
Careless of work, and of a rambling mind;
Perhaps, neglectful to direct the plow,
He in one furrow twice the seed will sow.
Observe the crane's departing flight in time,
Who yearly soars to seek a southern clime,
Conscious of cold; when the shrill voice you hear,
Know the fit season for the plow is near;
Then he for whom no oxen graze the plains,
With aking heart, beholds the winter rains;
Be mindful then the sturdy ox to feed,
And careful keep within the useful breed.
You say, perhaps, you will intreat a friend
A yoke of oxen, and a plow, to lend:
He your request, if wise, will thus refuse,
I have but two, and those I want to use;
To make a plow great is th'expence and care;
All these you should, in proper time, prepare.
Reproofs like these avoid; and, to behold
Your fields bright waving with their ears of gold,
Let unimprov'd no hour, in season, fly,
But with your servants plow, or wet, or dry;
And in the spring again to turn the soil
Observe; the summer shall reward your toil.
While light and fresh the glebe insert the grain;
Then shall your children smile, nor you complain.
Who yearly soars to seek a southern clime,
Conscious of cold; when the shrill voice you hear,
Know the fit season for the plow is near;
Then he for whom no oxen graze the plains,
With aking heart, beholds the winter rains;
51
And careful keep within the useful breed.
You say, perhaps, you will intreat a friend
A yoke of oxen, and a plow, to lend:
He your request, if wise, will thus refuse,
I have but two, and those I want to use;
To make a plow great is th'expence and care;
All these you should, in proper time, prepare.
Reproofs like these avoid; and, to behold
Your fields bright waving with their ears of gold,
Let unimprov'd no hour, in season, fly,
But with your servants plow, or wet, or dry;
And in the spring again to turn the soil
Observe; the summer shall reward your toil.
While light and fresh the glebe insert the grain;
Then shall your children smile, nor you complain.
Prefer with zeal, when you begin to plow,
To Jove terrene, and Ceres chast, the vow;
Then will the rural deitys regard
Your welfare, and your piety reward.
Forget not, when you sow the grain, to mind
That a boy follows with a rake behind;
And strictly charge him, as you drive, with care,
The seed to cover, and the birds to scare.
Thro ev'ry task, with diligence, employ
Your strength; and in that duty be your joy;
And, to avoid of life the greatest ill,
Never may sloth prevail upon thy will:
(Bless'd who with order their affairs dispose!
But rude confusion is the source of woes!)
Then shall you see, Olympian Jove your friend,
With pond'rous grain the yellow harvest bend;
Then of Arachne's web the vessels clear,
To hoard the produce of the fertile year.
Think then, o! think, how pleasant will it be,
At home an annual support to see,
To view with friendly eyes your neighbour's store,
And to be able to relieve the poor.
To Jove terrene, and Ceres chast, the vow;
52
Your welfare, and your piety reward.
Forget not, when you sow the grain, to mind
That a boy follows with a rake behind;
And strictly charge him, as you drive, with care,
The seed to cover, and the birds to scare.
Thro ev'ry task, with diligence, employ
Your strength; and in that duty be your joy;
53
Never may sloth prevail upon thy will:
(Bless'd who with order their affairs dispose!
But rude confusion is the source of woes!)
Then shall you see, Olympian Jove your friend,
With pond'rous grain the yellow harvest bend;
Then of Arachne's web the vessels clear,
To hoard the produce of the fertile year.
Think then, o! think, how pleasant will it be,
At home an annual support to see,
To view with friendly eyes your neighbour's store,
And to be able to relieve the poor.
Learn now what seasons for the plow to shun:
Beneath the tropic of the winter's sun
Be well observant not to turn the ground,
For small advantage will from thence be found:
How will you sigh when thin your crop appears,
And the short stalks support the dusty ears!
Your scanty harvest then, in baskets press'd,
Will, by your folly, be your neighbour's jest:
Sometimes indeed it otherwise may be;
But who th'effect of a bad cause can see?
If late you to the plowman's task accede,
The symptoms these the later plow must speed.
When first the cuckoo from the oak you hear,
In welcome sounds, foretel the spring-time near,
If Jove, the plowman's friend, upon the plains,
Three days and nights, descends in constant rains,
Till on the surface of the glebe the tide
Rise to that height the ox's hoof may hide,
Then may you hope your store of golden grain
Shall equal his who earlyer turn'd the plain.
Observe, with care, the precepts I impart,
And may they never wander from thy heart;
Then shall you know the show'rs what seasons bring,
And what the bus'ness of the painted spring.
Beneath the tropic of the winter's sun
54
For small advantage will from thence be found:
How will you sigh when thin your crop appears,
And the short stalks support the dusty ears!
Your scanty harvest then, in baskets press'd,
Will, by your folly, be your neighbour's jest:
Sometimes indeed it otherwise may be;
But who th'effect of a bad cause can see?
If late you to the plowman's task accede,
The symptoms these the later plow must speed.
When first the cuckoo from the oak you hear,
In welcome sounds, foretel the spring-time near,
If Jove, the plowman's friend, upon the plains,
Three days and nights, descends in constant rains,
Till on the surface of the glebe the tide
Rise to that height the ox's hoof may hide,
Then may you hope your store of golden grain
Shall equal his who earlyer turn'd the plain.
Observe, with care, the precepts I impart,
And may they never wander from thy heart;
55
And what the bus'ness of the painted spring.
In that bleak, and dead, season of the year,
When naked all the woods, and fields, appear,
When nature lazy for a while remains,
And the blood almost freezes in the veins,
Avoid the public forge where wretches fly
Th'inclement rigour of the winter sky:
Thither behold the slothful vermin stray,
And there in idle talk consume the day;
Half-starv'd they sit, in evil consult join'd,
And, indolent, with hope buoy up their mind;
Hope that is never to the hungry kind!
Labour in season to encrease thy store,
And never let the winter find thee poor:
Thy servants all employ till summer's pass'd,
For tell them summer will not always last.
When naked all the woods, and fields, appear,
When nature lazy for a while remains,
And the blood almost freezes in the veins,
Avoid the public forge where wretches fly
Th'inclement rigour of the winter sky:
56
And there in idle talk consume the day;
Half-starv'd they sit, in evil consult join'd,
And, indolent, with hope buoy up their mind;
Hope that is never to the hungry kind!
Labour in season to encrease thy store,
And never let the winter find thee poor:
Thy servants all employ till summer's pass'd,
For tell them summer will not always last.
The month all hurtful to the lab'ring kine,
In part devoted to the god of wine,
Demands your utmost care; when raging forth,
O'er the wide seas, the tyrant of the north,
Bellowing thro Thrace, tears up the lofty woods,
Hardens the earth, and binds the rapid floods.
The mountain oak, high tow'ring to the skys,,
Torn from his root across the valley lys;
Wide spreading ruin threatens all the shore,
Loud groans the earth, and all the forests roar:
And now the beast amaz'd, from him that reigns
Lord of the woods to those which graze the plains,
Shiv'ring the piercing blast, affrighted, flys,
And guards his tender tail betwixt his thighs.
Now nought avails the roughness of the bear,
The ox's hide, nor the goat's length of hair,
Rich in their fleece, alone the well cloath'd fold
Dread not the blust'ring wind, nor fear the cold.
The man, who could erect support his age,
Now bends reluctant to the north-wind's rage:
From accidents like these the tender maid,
Free and secure, of storms nor winds afraid,
Lives, nurtur'd chast beneath her mother's Eye,
Unhurt, unsully'd, by the winter's sky;
Or now to bathe her lovely limbs she goes,
Now round the fair the fragrant ointment flows;
Beneath the virtuous roof she spends the nights,
Stranger to golden Venus, and her rites.
Now does the boneless Polypus, in rage,
Feed on his feet, his hunger to asswage;
The sun no more, bright shining in the day,
Directs him in the flood to find his prey;
O'er swarthy nations while he fiercely gleams,
Greece feels the pow'r but of his fainter beams.
Now all things have a diff'rent face below;
The beasts now shiver at the falling snow;
Thro woods, and thro the shady vale, they run
To various haunts, the pinching cold to shun;
Some to the thicket of the forest flock,
And some, for shelter, seek the hollow rock.
In part devoted to the god of wine,
57
O'er the wide seas, the tyrant of the north,
Bellowing thro Thrace, tears up the lofty woods,
Hardens the earth, and binds the rapid floods.
The mountain oak, high tow'ring to the skys,,
Torn from his root across the valley lys;
Wide spreading ruin threatens all the shore,
Loud groans the earth, and all the forests roar:
And now the beast amaz'd, from him that reigns
Lord of the woods to those which graze the plains,
Shiv'ring the piercing blast, affrighted, flys,
And guards his tender tail betwixt his thighs.
Now nought avails the roughness of the bear,
The ox's hide, nor the goat's length of hair,
Rich in their fleece, alone the well cloath'd fold
Dread not the blust'ring wind, nor fear the cold.
The man, who could erect support his age,
Now bends reluctant to the north-wind's rage:
From accidents like these the tender maid,
Free and secure, of storms nor winds afraid,
58
Unhurt, unsully'd, by the winter's sky;
Or now to bathe her lovely limbs she goes,
Now round the fair the fragrant ointment flows;
Beneath the virtuous roof she spends the nights,
Stranger to golden Venus, and her rites.
Now does the boneless Polypus, in rage,
Feed on his feet, his hunger to asswage;
The sun no more, bright shining in the day,
Directs him in the flood to find his prey;
O'er swarthy nations while he fiercely gleams,
Greece feels the pow'r but of his fainter beams.
Now all things have a diff'rent face below;
The beasts now shiver at the falling snow;
Thro woods, and thro the shady vale, they run
To various haunts, the pinching cold to shun;
Some to the thicket of the forest flock,
And some, for shelter, seek the hollow rock.
59
A winter garment now demands your care,
To guard the body from th'inclement air;
Soft be the inward vest, the outward strong,
And large to wrap you warm, down reaching long:
Thin lay your warf, when you the loom prepare,
And close to weave the woof no labour spare.
The rigour of the day a man defys,
Thus cloath'd; nor sees his hairs like bristles rise.
Next for your feet the well hair'd shoes provide,
Hairy within, of a sound ox's hide.
A kid's soft skin over your shoulders throw,
Unhurt to keep you from the rain or snow;
And for your head a well made cov'ring get,
To keep your ears safe from the cold and wet.
To guard the body from th'inclement air;
Soft be the inward vest, the outward strong,
And large to wrap you warm, down reaching long:
Thin lay your warf, when you the loom prepare,
And close to weave the woof no labour spare.
The rigour of the day a man defys,
Thus cloath'd; nor sees his hairs like bristles rise.
Next for your feet the well hair'd shoes provide,
Hairy within, of a sound ox's hide.
A kid's soft skin over your shoulders throw,
Unhurt to keep you from the rain or snow;
And for your head a well made cov'ring get,
To keep your ears safe from the cold and wet.
60
When o'er the plains the north exerts his sway,
From his sharp blasts piercing begins the day;
Then from the sky the morning dews descend,
And fruitful o'er the happy lands extend.
The waters by the winds convey'd on high,
From living streams, in early dew-drops ly
Bright on the grass; but if the north-wind swells,
With rage, and thick and sable clouds compels,
They fall in ev'ning storms upon the plain:
And now from ev'ry part, the lab'ring swain
Foresees the danger of the coming rain;
Leaving his work, panting behold him scow'r
Homeward, incessant to outrun the show'r.
This month commands your care, of all the year,
Alike to man and beast, the most severe:
The ox's provender be stinted now;
But plenteous meals the husbandman allow;
For the long nights but tedious pass away.
These rules observe while night succeeds the day,
Long as our common parent, earth shall bring
Her various offsprings forth to grace the spring.
From his sharp blasts piercing begins the day;
Then from the sky the morning dews descend,
And fruitful o'er the happy lands extend.
The waters by the winds convey'd on high,
From living streams, in early dew-drops ly
Bright on the grass; but if the north-wind swells,
With rage, and thick and sable clouds compels,
They fall in ev'ning storms upon the plain:
And now from ev'ry part, the lab'ring swain
Foresees the danger of the coming rain;
Leaving his work, panting behold him scow'r
Homeward, incessant to outrun the show'r.
This month commands your care, of all the year,
Alike to man and beast, the most severe:
The ox's provender be stinted now;
But plenteous meals the husbandman allow;
61
These rules observe while night succeeds the day,
Long as our common parent, earth shall bring
Her various offsprings forth to grace the spring.
When, from the tropic of the winter's sun,
Thrice twenty days and nights their course have run,
And when Arcturus leaves the main to rise
A star, bright shining in the ev'ning skys,
Then prune the vine: 'tis dang'rous to delay
Till with complaints the swallow breaks the day.
Thrice twenty days and nights their course have run,
And when Arcturus leaves the main to rise
A star, bright shining in the ev'ning skys,
Then prune the vine: 'tis dang'rous to delay
Till with complaints the swallow breaks the day.
62
When with their domes the slow-pac'd snails retreat,
Beneath some foliage, from the burning heat
Of the Pleïades, your tools prepare;
The ripen'd harvest then demands your care.
Now fly the jocund shades, your morning sleep,
And constant to their work your servants keep;
All other pleasures to your duty yield;
The harvest calls, haste early to the field.
The morning workman always best succeeds;
The morn the reaper, and the trav'ler, speeds:
But when the thistle wide begins to spread,
And rears in triumph his offensive head,
When in the shady boughs, with quiv'ring wings,
The grashopper all day continual sings,
The season when the dog resumes his reign,
Weakens the nerves of man and burns the brain,
Then the fat flesh of goats is wholesome food,
And to the heart the gen'rous wine is good;
Then nature thro the softer sex does move,
And stimulates the fair to acts of love:
Then in the shade avoid the mid-day sun,
Where zephyrs breathe, and living fountains run;
There pass the sultry hours, with friends, away,
And frolic out, in harmless mirth, the day;
With country cates your homely table spread,
The goat's new milk, and cakes of milk your bread;
The flesh of beeves, which brouse the trees, your meat;
Nor spare the tender flesh of kids to eat;
With Byblian wine the rural feast be crown'd;
Three parts of water, let the bowl go round.
Beneath some foliage, from the burning heat
Of the Pleïades, your tools prepare;
The ripen'd harvest then demands your care.
Now fly the jocund shades, your morning sleep,
And constant to their work your servants keep;
All other pleasures to your duty yield;
The harvest calls, haste early to the field.
The morning workman always best succeeds;
The morn the reaper, and the trav'ler, speeds:
But when the thistle wide begins to spread,
And rears in triumph his offensive head,
63
The grashopper all day continual sings,
64
Weakens the nerves of man and burns the brain,
65
And to the heart the gen'rous wine is good;
66
And stimulates the fair to acts of love:
Then in the shade avoid the mid-day sun,
Where zephyrs breathe, and living fountains run;
There pass the sultry hours, with friends, away,
And frolic out, in harmless mirth, the day;
With country cates your homely table spread,
The goat's new milk, and cakes of milk your bread;
The flesh of beeves, which brouse the trees, your meat;
Nor spare the tender flesh of kids to eat;
With Byblian wine the rural feast be crown'd;
Three parts of water, let the bowl go round.
67
Forget not, when Orion first appears,
To make your servants thresh the sacred ears;
Upon the level floor the harvest lay,
Where a soft gale may blow the chaff away;
Then, of your labour to compute the gain,
Before you fill the vessels, mete the grain.
Sweep up the chaff, to make your work compleat;
The chaff, and straw, the ox and mule will eat.
When in the year's provision you have lay'd,
Take home a single man, and servant-maid;
Among your workmen let this care be shown
To one who has no mansion of his own.
Be sure a sharp-tooth'd cur well fed to keep,
Your house's guard, while you in safety sleep.
The harvest pass'd, and thus by Ceres bless'd,
Unyoke the beast, and give your servants rest.
To make your servants thresh the sacred ears;
Upon the level floor the harvest lay,
Where a soft gale may blow the chaff away;
Then, of your labour to compute the gain,
Before you fill the vessels, mete the grain.
Sweep up the chaff, to make your work compleat;
The chaff, and straw, the ox and mule will eat.
When in the year's provision you have lay'd,
Take home a single man, and servant-maid;
Among your workmen let this care be shown
To one who has no mansion of his own.
Be sure a sharp-tooth'd cur well fed to keep,
Your house's guard, while you in safety sleep.
The harvest pass'd, and thus by Ceres bless'd,
Unyoke the beast, and give your servants rest.
68
Orion and the Dog, each other nigh,
Together mounted to the midmost sky,
When in the rosy morn Arcturus shines,
Then pluck the clusters from the parent vines;
Forget not next the ripen'd grapes to lay
Ten nights in air, nor take them in by day;
Five more remember, 'e're the wine is made,
To let them ly, to mellow in the shade;
And in the sixth briskly yourself employ,
To cask the gift of Bacchus, fire of joy.
Next, in the round, do not to plow forget,
When the seven virgins, and Orion, set:
Thus an advantage always shall appear,
In ev'ry labour of the various year.
Together mounted to the midmost sky,
When in the rosy morn Arcturus shines,
Then pluck the clusters from the parent vines;
Forget not next the ripen'd grapes to lay
Ten nights in air, nor take them in by day;
Five more remember, 'e're the wine is made,
To let them ly, to mellow in the shade;
And in the sixth briskly yourself employ,
To cask the gift of Bacchus, fire of joy.
Next, in the round, do not to plow forget,
When the seven virgins, and Orion, set:
Thus an advantage always shall appear,
In ev'ry labour of the various year.
If o'er your mind prevails the love of gain,
And tempts you to the dangers of the main,
Yet in her harbour safe the vessel keep,
When strong Orion chaces to the deep
The virgin stars; then the winds war aloud,
And veil the ocean with a sable cloud:
Then round the bark, already haul'd on shore,
Lay stones, to fix her when the tempests roar;
But first forget not well the keel to drain;
And draw the pin to save her from the rain.
Furl the ship's wings, her tackling home convey,
And o'er the smoke the well made rudder lay.
With patience wait for a propitious gale,
And a calm season to unfurl the sail;
Then launch the swift wing'd vessel on the main,
With a fit burden to return with gain.
So our poor father toil'd his hours away,
Careful to live in the unhappy day;
He, foolish Perses, spent no time in vain,
But fled misfortunes thro the wat'ry plain;
He, from Æolian Cuma, th'ocean pass'd,
Here, in his sable bark, arriv'd at last. [OMITTED]
Which to the sacred Heliconian nine
I offer'd grateful for their gift divine,
Where with the love of verse I first was fir'd,
Where by the heav'nly maids I was inspir'd;
To them I owe, to them alone I owe,
What of the seas, or of the stars, I know;
Mine is the pow'r to tell, by them reveal'd,
The will of Jove, tremendous with his shield;
To them, who taught me first, to them belong
The blooming honours of th'immortal song.
And tempts you to the dangers of the main,
69
When strong Orion chaces to the deep
The virgin stars; then the winds war aloud,
And veil the ocean with a sable cloud:
Then round the bark, already haul'd on shore,
Lay stones, to fix her when the tempests roar;
But first forget not well the keel to drain;
And draw the pin to save her from the rain.
Furl the ship's wings, her tackling home convey,
And o'er the smoke the well made rudder lay.
With patience wait for a propitious gale,
And a calm season to unfurl the sail;
Then launch the swift wing'd vessel on the main,
With a fit burden to return with gain.
So our poor father toil'd his hours away,
Careful to live in the unhappy day;
He, foolish Perses, spent no time in vain,
But fled misfortunes thro the wat'ry plain;
He, from Æolian Cuma, th'ocean pass'd,
Here, in his sable bark, arriv'd at last. [OMITTED]
72
I offer'd grateful for their gift divine,
Where with the love of verse I first was fir'd,
Where by the heav'nly maids I was inspir'd;
To them I owe, to them alone I owe,
What of the seas, or of the stars, I know;
Mine is the pow'r to tell, by them reveal'd,
The will of Jove, tremendous with his shield;
To them, who taught me first, to them belong
The blooming honours of th'immortal song.
When, from the tropic of the summer's sun,
Full fifty days and nights their course have run,
Fearless of danger, for the voy'ge prepare,
Smooth is the ocean, and serene the air:
Then you the bark, safe with her freight, may view,
And gladsome as the day the joyful crew,
Unless great Jove, the king of gods, or he,
Neptune, that shakes the earth, and rules the sea,
The two immortal pow'rs on whom the end
Of mortals, good and bad, alike depend,
Should jointly, or alone, their force employ,
And, in a luckless hour, the ship destroy:
If, free from such mischance, the vessel flys,
O'er a calm sea, beneath indulgent skys,
Let nothing long thee from thy home detain,
But measure, quickly, measure back the main.
Haste your return before the vintage pass'd,
Prevent th'autumnal show'rs, and southern blast,
Or you, too late a penitent, will find
A ruffel'd ocean, and unfriendly wind.
Others there are who chuse to hoist the sail,
And plow the sea, before a spring-tide gale,
When first the footsteps of the crow are seen,
Clearly as on the trees the buding green:
But then, may my advice prevail, you'll keep
Your vessel safe at land, nor trust the deep;
Many, surprising weakness of the mind,
Tempt all the perils of the sea and wind,
Face death in all the terrors of the main,
Seeking, the soul of wretched mortals, gain.
Would'st thou be safe, my cautions be thy guide;
'Tis sad to perish in the boystrous tide.
When for the voy'ge your vessel leaves the shore,
Trust in her hollow sides not half your store;
The less your loss should she return no more:
With all your stock how dismal would it be
To have the cargo perish in the sea!
A load, you know, too pond'rous for the wain,
Will crush the axeltree, and spoil the grain.
Let ev'ry action prove a mean confess'd;
A moderation is, in all, the best.
Full fifty days and nights their course have run,
Fearless of danger, for the voy'ge prepare,
Smooth is the ocean, and serene the air:
Then you the bark, safe with her freight, may view,
And gladsome as the day the joyful crew,
Unless great Jove, the king of gods, or he,
Neptune, that shakes the earth, and rules the sea,
The two immortal pow'rs on whom the end
Of mortals, good and bad, alike depend,
73
And, in a luckless hour, the ship destroy:
If, free from such mischance, the vessel flys,
O'er a calm sea, beneath indulgent skys,
Let nothing long thee from thy home detain,
But measure, quickly, measure back the main.
Haste your return before the vintage pass'd,
Prevent th'autumnal show'rs, and southern blast,
Or you, too late a penitent, will find
A ruffel'd ocean, and unfriendly wind.
Others there are who chuse to hoist the sail,
And plow the sea, before a spring-tide gale,
When first the footsteps of the crow are seen,
Clearly as on the trees the buding green:
But then, may my advice prevail, you'll keep
Your vessel safe at land, nor trust the deep;
Many, surprising weakness of the mind,
Tempt all the perils of the sea and wind,
Face death in all the terrors of the main,
Seeking, the soul of wretched mortals, gain.
Would'st thou be safe, my cautions be thy guide;
'Tis sad to perish in the boystrous tide.
When for the voy'ge your vessel leaves the shore,
Trust in her hollow sides not half your store;
The less your loss should she return no more:
With all your stock how dismal would it be
To have the cargo perish in the sea!
74
Will crush the axeltree, and spoil the grain.
Let ev'ry action prove a mean confess'd;
A moderation is, in all, the best.
Next to my counsels an attention pay,
To form your judgement for the nuptial day.
When you have number'd thrice ten years in time,
The age mature when manhood dates his prime,
With caution choose the partner of your bed:
Whom fifteen springs have crown'd, a virgin wed.
Let prudence now direct your choice; a wife
Is or a blessing, or a curse, in life;
Her father, mother, know, relations, friends,
For on her education much depends:
If all are good accept the maiden bride;
Then form her manners, and her actions guide:
A life of bliss succeeds the happy choice;
Nor shall your friends lament, nor foes rejoice.
Wretched the man condemn'd to drag the chain,
What restless ev'nings his, what days of pain!
Of a luxurious mate, a wanton dame,
That ever burns with an insatiate flame,
A wife who seeks to revel out the nights
In sumptuous banquets, and in stol'n delights:
Ah! wretched mortal! tho in body strong,
Thy constitution cannot serve thee long;
Old age vexatious shall o'ertake thee soon;
Thine is the ev'n of life before the noon.
To form your judgement for the nuptial day.
When you have number'd thrice ten years in time,
The age mature when manhood dates his prime,
With caution choose the partner of your bed:
Whom fifteen springs have crown'd, a virgin wed.
Let prudence now direct your choice; a wife
Is or a blessing, or a curse, in life;
Her father, mother, know, relations, friends,
For on her education much depends:
If all are good accept the maiden bride;
Then form her manners, and her actions guide:
75
Nor shall your friends lament, nor foes rejoice.
Wretched the man condemn'd to drag the chain,
What restless ev'nings his, what days of pain!
Of a luxurious mate, a wanton dame,
That ever burns with an insatiate flame,
A wife who seeks to revel out the nights
In sumptuous banquets, and in stol'n delights:
Ah! wretched mortal! tho in body strong,
Thy constitution cannot serve thee long;
Old age vexatious shall o'ertake thee soon;
Thine is the ev'n of life before the noon.
Observe in all you do, and all you say,
Regard to the immortal gods to pay.
Regard to the immortal gods to pay.
First in your friendship let your brother stand,
So nearly join'd in blood, the strictest band;
Or should another be your heart's ally,
Let not a fault of thine dissolve the ty;
Nor e'er debase the friendship with a ly.
Should he, offensive, or in deed, or speech,
First in the sacred union make the breach,
To punish him may your resentments tend;
For who more guilty than a faithless friend!
But if, repentant of his breach of trust,
The self-accuser thinks your vengeance just,
And humbly begs you would no more complain,
Sink your resentments, and be friends again;
Or the poor wretch, all sorrowful to part,
Sighs for another friend to ease his heart.
So nearly join'd in blood, the strictest band;
Or should another be your heart's ally,
Let not a fault of thine dissolve the ty;
Nor e'er debase the friendship with a ly.
Should he, offensive, or in deed, or speech,
First in the sacred union make the breach,
To punish him may your resentments tend;
For who more guilty than a faithless friend!
But if, repentant of his breach of trust,
The self-accuser thinks your vengeance just,
And humbly begs you would no more complain,
Sink your resentments, and be friends again;
76
Sighs for another friend to ease his heart.
Whatever rage your boiling heart sustains,
Let not the face disclose your inward pains.
Let not the face disclose your inward pains.
Be your companions o'er the social bowl
The few selected, each a virtuous soul.
The few selected, each a virtuous soul.
Never a friend among the wicked go,
Nor ever join to be the good man's foe.
Nor ever join to be the good man's foe.
When you behold a man by fortune poor,
Let him not leave with sharp rebukes the door:
The treasure of the tongue, in ev'ry cause,
With moderation us'd, obtains applause:
What of another you severely say
May amply be return'd another day.
Let him not leave with sharp rebukes the door:
The treasure of the tongue, in ev'ry cause,
With moderation us'd, obtains applause:
What of another you severely say
May amply be return'd another day.
When you are summon'd to the public feast,
Go with a willing mind a ready guest;
Grudge not the charge, the burden is but small;
Good is the custom, and it pleases all.
Go with a willing mind a ready guest;
Grudge not the charge, the burden is but small;
Good is the custom, and it pleases all.
When the libation of black wine you bring,
A morning off'ring to the heav'nly king,
With hands unclean if you prefer the pray'r,
Jove is incens'd, your vows are loss'd in air;
So all th'immortal pow'rs on whom we call,
If with polluted hands, are deaf to all.
A morning off'ring to the heav'nly king,
77
Jove is incens'd, your vows are loss'd in air;
So all th'immortal pow'rs on whom we call,
If with polluted hands, are deaf to all.
When you would have your urine pass away,
Stand not upright before the eye of day;
And scatter not your water as you go;
Nor let it, when you're naked, from you flow:
In either case 'tis an unseemly sight:
The gods observe alike by day and night:
The man that we devout and wise may call
Sits in that act, or streams against a wall.
Stand not upright before the eye of day;
And scatter not your water as you go;
Nor let it, when you're naked, from you flow:
In either case 'tis an unseemly sight:
The gods observe alike by day and night:
The man that we devout and wise may call
Sits in that act, or streams against a wall.
Whate'er you do in amorous delight,
Be all transacted in the veil of night;
And when, transported, to your wife's embrace
You haste, pollute no consecrated place;
Nor seek to taste her beautys when you part
From a sad fun'ral with a heavy heart:
When from the joyous feast you come all gay,
In her fair arms revel the night away.
Be all transacted in the veil of night;
And when, transported, to your wife's embrace
You haste, pollute no consecrated place;
78
From a sad fun'ral with a heavy heart:
When from the joyous feast you come all gay,
In her fair arms revel the night away.
When to the rivulet to bathe you go,
Whose lucid currents, never ceasing, flow,
'E're, to deface the stream, you leave the land,
With the pure limpid waters cleanse each hand;
Then on the lovely surface fix your look,
And supplicate the guardians of the brook:
Who in the river thinks himself secure,
With malice at his heart, and hands impure,
Too late a penitent, shall find, 'e're-long,
By what the gods inflict, his rashness wrong.
Whose lucid currents, never ceasing, flow,
'E're, to deface the stream, you leave the land,
With the pure limpid waters cleanse each hand;
Then on the lovely surface fix your look,
And supplicate the guardians of the brook:
Who in the river thinks himself secure,
With malice at his heart, and hands impure,
Too late a penitent, shall find, 'e're-long,
By what the gods inflict, his rashness wrong.
When to the gods your solemn vows you pay,
Strictly attend while at the feast you stay;
Nor the black iron to your hands apply,
From the fresh parts to pare the useless dry.
Strictly attend while at the feast you stay;
Nor the black iron to your hands apply,
From the fresh parts to pare the useless dry.
79
The bowl, from which you the libation pour
To heav'n, profane not in the social hour:
Who things devote to vulgar use employ,
Those men some dreadful vengeance shall destroy.
To heav'n, profane not in the social hour:
Who things devote to vulgar use employ,
Those men some dreadful vengeance shall destroy.
Never begin to build a mansion seat,
Unless you're sure to make the work compleat;
Lest, on th'unfinish'd roof high perch'd, the crow
Croak horrid, and foretel approaching woe.
Unless you're sure to make the work compleat;
Lest, on th'unfinish'd roof high perch'd, the crow
Croak horrid, and foretel approaching woe.
'Tis hurtful in the footed jar to eat,
Till purify'd: nor in it bathe your feet.
Till purify'd: nor in it bathe your feet.
Who in a slothful way his children rears,
Will see them feeble in their riper years.
Will see them feeble in their riper years.
Never by acts effeminate disgrace
Yourself, nor bathe your body in the place
Where women bathe; for time and custom can
Soften your heart to acts beneath a man.
Yourself, nor bathe your body in the place
Where women bathe; for time and custom can
Soften your heart to acts beneath a man.
When on the sacred rites you fix your eyes,
Deride not, in your breast, the sacrifice;
For know, the god, to whom the flames aspire,
May punish you severely in his ire.
Deride not, in your breast, the sacrifice;
For know, the god, to whom the flames aspire,
May punish you severely in his ire.
Sacred the fountains, and the seas, esteem,
Nor by indecent acts pollute their stream.
Nor by indecent acts pollute their stream.
These precepts keep, fond of a virtuous name,
And shun the loud reports of evil fame:
Fame is an ill you may with ease obtain,
A sad oppression to be borne with pain;
And when you would the noisy clamours drown,
You'll find it hard to lay your burden down:
Fame, of whatever kind, not wholly dys,
A goddess she, and strengthens as she flys.
And shun the loud reports of evil fame:
80
A sad oppression to be borne with pain;
And when you would the noisy clamours drown,
You'll find it hard to lay your burden down:
Fame, of whatever kind, not wholly dys,
A goddess she, and strengthens as she flys.
The end of the second BOOK.
| The works Of Hesiod | |