The Works of Virgil :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Works of Virgil

Translated into English Blank Verse. With large Explanatory Notes, and Critical Observations. By Joseph Trapp

Trapp, Joseph (1679-1747)

VOL. I.

[dedication]

THE ECLOGUES AND GEORGICKS.

II, III.

[VOLS. II & III.]

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I. VOL. I.

------ Parnassia Laurus
Parva sub ingenti Matris se subjicit umbrâ.
Virg.

TO THE Right Honourable WILLIAM, Lord NORTH and GREY.

THE ECLOGUES AND GEORGICKS.

VIRGIL's ECLOGUES.

PASTORAL the First. Tityrus.

Meliboeus, Tityrus.
Meliboeus.
Beneath the Covert of the spreading Beech
Thou, Tityrus, repos'd, art warbling o'er,
Upon a slender Reed, thy Silvan Lays:
We leave our Country, and sweet native Fields;
We fly our Country: Careless in the Shade,
Thou teachest, Tityrus, the sounding Groves
To echoe beauteous Amaryllis' Name.

Tityrus.
O Melibœus, 'Twas a God to Us
Indulg'd this Freedom: For to Me a God
He ever shall be: From my Folds full oft
A tender Lamb his Altar shall imbrue:
He gave my Heifers, as thou seest, to roam;
And Me permitted on my rural Cane
To sport at Pleasure, and enjoy my Muse.

Meliboeus.
Nay, 'Tis not that I envy, but admire;
O'er all the Fields such wild Confusion reigns.
Lo! I far hence my Goats, just fainting, drive;
And This, dear Tityrus, I scarce with pain
Can drag along. For here, alas! ev'n now
Among thick Hazle-Shrubs she cast her Twins,
And left the Hope of all my Herd expos'd
On a bare Rock. To me This dire Mishap
(For now I recollect, though thoughtless Then)
Oaks struck from Heav'n by Lightning oft foretold;
And oft ill-boding from a hollow Holm
The Raven croak'd. But who should be That God
You mention'd, give me, Tityrus, to know.

Tityrus.
The City, so renown'd, which Rome they call,
I, Melibœus, ignorant suppos'd
Like This of Ours, whither we Shepherd-Swains
(As Custom is) our Lambs to Market drive.
So Whelps to Dogs, so Kidlings to their Dams
I liken'd; so great Things compar'd with small.
But That above all other Citys tow'rs,
As the tall Cypress o'er the Under-Grove.

Meliboeus.
And what the Cause which drew thee Hence to Rome?

Tityrus.
Freedom: Which came, tho' late; when now in Years,
And restive grown, my griesled Chin I shav'd;
Yet come it did, tho' after long Delay:
E'er since from Galatea I transferr'd

My Love to Amaryllis. For, (to Thee
I will confess) while Galatea reign'd;
No Hope of Freedom, or of Gain I saw:
Tho' many a Victim issued from my Folds,

And for th'ungrateful Town fat Cheese was press'd;
Still Cashless, and Light-handed I return'd.

Meliboeus.
I marvel'd, Amaryllis, at the Cause,
Why Thou, so piteous, didst invoke the Gods;
For whom thy Apples on their Branches hung.
'Twas Tityrus was absent from our Fields;
Tityrus, of Thy Absence ev'n These Pines,
Ev'n These clear Brooks, and ev'n These Woods complain'd.

Tityrus.
What should I do? No other Way I found
To break from Servitude; nor heard elsewhere
Of any Gods so present to my Aid.
There, Melibœus, That sweet Youth I saw,
To whom twelve Days, each Year, my Altars smoke.
There to my Suit this Answer first He gave;
Swains, Feed, as erst, your Heifers, yoke your Steers.

Meliboeus.
Happy old Man! Thy Farm shall then remain;
And large enough for Thee; tho' all thy Grounds
With naked Stones are cover'd, and o'ergrown
With muddy Rushes in a marshy Soil.
No unaccustom'd Pasturage shall taint
Thy pregnant Ewes; nor from a neighb'ring Flock
Diseases with contagious Touch consume.
Happy old Man! Among the well-known Streams,
And sacred Fountains, here the cooling Shade

Thou shalt enjoy. The Quick-set Sallows here,
Which always part th'adjoining Fields from Thine,
Suck'd by Hyblæan Bees, that drink its Flow'rs,
Shall oft invite thy Sleep with humming Sound.
The Woodman there, beneath a lofty Rock,
Shall sing to Heav'n: Nor shall meanwhile the Doves,
Thy dear Delight, nor yet the Turtles cease
To cooe, and from aëreal Elms complain.

Tityrus.
Therefore swift Stags shall sooner feed in Air,
And Tides leave naked Fishes on the Beach;
Sooner shall Parthia and Germania change

Their Climate, This drink Tigris, Arar That;
Than from my Soul his Image be effac'd.

Meliboeus.
But we to distant Climes must banish'd go;
Some to parch'd Africk's Sands; to Scythia, some;
To Crete, and turbulent Oäxes' Stream,
And Britain, quite from all the World disjoin'd.
Shall I then never more, admiring, see,
After long Absence, and some Harvests past,
My Country's Coasts, my poor Hut built with Turf,
To Me a Kingdom? Shall these Lands, so well
Manur'd, by impious Soldiers be possess'd?
These Crops by Aliens? See, to what Extremes
Our wretched Natives are reduc'd by Broils
Intestine! See, for Whom we sow'd our Fields!

Go, Melibœus; Graft thy Pear-Trees now;
Now range thy Vines in order: Go, my Goats,
Once happy Cattle, go: Henceforth no more
Shall I, extended in my mossy Cave,
Behold you from a Rock o'ergrown with Thorns
At distance hang; No Carols shall I chant;
Tended by Me no more, my Goats, shall you
On Trefoil's Flow'rs, and bitter Sallows browze.

Tityrus.
Yet Here this Night with Me thou may'st repose,
On verdant Leaves: Ripe Apples here I have,
Soft Chesnuts, and of well-press'd Cheese good Store;

And now the Village-Tops at distance smoke,
And longer Shades from lofty Mountains fall.

PASTORAL the Second. Corydon.

The Shepherd Corydon, with hopeless Fires,
For fair Alexis burn'd, his Lord's Delight:
Tho' hopeless, yet among the shady Tops
Of the thick Beeches day by day he came;
There in These undigested Strains, to sooth,
Unknowing what he sought, his fond Despair,

To Woods and Mountains he complain'd alone.

Cruel Alexis! Nought dost thou regard
My Verse? Nought pity me? Force me to die?
Our Cattle now the cooling Shades enjoy;
Now the green Lizards lurk in prickly Brakes:
And Thestylis pounds Thyme, and Garlick, Herbs
Strong-scented, for the Reapers tir'd with Heat.
But while, beneath the scorching Sun, I trace
Thy Steps; the Lawns with Grashoppers resound,
Which their hoarse Notes in Consort join with mine.
Was it not better to endure the Pride
Of Amaryllis, or Menalcas' Scorn;
Tho' black He was, tho' wondrous fair art Thou?
O trust not thy Complexion, beauteous Boy,
Too far: White Withbinds fall, black Hyacinths
Are gather'd. I, Alexis, am disdain'd
By Thee: nor who I am, dost thou enquire;
How rich in snow-white Cattle, how in Milk
Abounding. On Sicilian Mountains rove
A thousand Lambs of mine: In Summer's Heat,
And Winter's Frost, new Milk I never want:
I sing, as That Dircæan Shepherd sung,
Amphion, if he ever fed his Flocks.

On high Bœtian Aracynthus' Top.
Nor am I so deform'd; I lately saw
Myself upon the Shore, when free from Winds
The Sea stood smooth: Daphnis I should not fear,
Tho' Thou wert Judge, unless that Mirrour lye.
O! were but Thy Delight with me to dwell,
In lowly Cottages, and rural Shades.

By Thee despis'd! to drive the Kids afield
With a green Wand, and shoot the flying Deer!
Singing in Woods, Thou Pan himself with Me
Shalt imitate: Pan taught us first with Wax
Reeds to conjoin, and form the various Pipe;
O'er Sheep, and o'er their Shepherds Pan presides.

Nor with a Reed do thou disdain t'indent
Thy tender Lip; to learn this very Art
Ambitious, what did not Amyntas do?
A Pipe I have, of seven unequal Canes
Compacted; which to me Damætas gave,
And dying said, Henceforth of this be Thou
The second Owner: Thus Damætas said;
The Fool Amyntas, vex'd, with Envy pin'd.
Besides two young He-Goats, in no safe Vale
By me recover'd, with their Skins ev'n now
Dapled with White; which I for Thee reserve:
Each Day from both her Teats they drain their Dam.
Them Thestylis long time has beg'd; and She
Shall have them, since my Presents are Thy Scorn.
Come hither, beauteous Boy; Behold, the Nymphs
To Thee fresh Lilies in full Baskets bring:
For Thee the lovely Näis crops the Heads
Of Poppies, and the Violet's pale Flow'rs,

With the Narcissus, and sweet Anise join'd;
Then mingling Cinnamon, and other Herbs
Of fragrant Scent, with the soft Hyacinth
The Saffron Bloom of Marigolds adorns.
Myself will gather Quinces white with Down,
And Chesnuts which my Amaryllis lov'd:
Plumbs I will add, like Wax, of yellow Hue;
And to That Fruit new Honour shall be paid:
You too, ye Laurels, and Thee, Myrtle, next;
Because thus mix'd you fragrant Odours blend.
Thou art a Rustick, Corydon; nor cares
Alexis for thy Gifts: Or if in Gifts
Thou shouldst contend; Iölas would not yield.
Wretch that I am! What would I? To the Winds
My Flow'rs I have expos'd, and sent the Swine
(Ah! frantick!) to pollute my limpid Streams.

Whom fly'st thou, Thoughtless? Gods have liv'd in Woods;
And Trojan Paris: In the Tow'rs she built
Let Pallas dwell: The Woods be our Delight.
The savage Lioness pursues the Wolf;
The Wolf the Goat; the Goat the Trefoil's Flow'rs;
Thee Corydon, Alexis: All their Love.
Behold, the Oxen homewards draw the Plough,
Less lab'ring with its Weight; and now the Sun,
Retiring, doubles the increasing Shades:
Yet Love me burns; What Bounds are set to Love?
Ah! Corydon! What Frenzy turns thy Brain?
Thy Vine, half-prun'd, creeps round yon leafy Elm:

Why rather try'st thou not with Osier Twigs,
And Rushes, something for thy Use to weave?

Nature has more than one Alexis form'd;
Thou'lt find Another, tho' disdain'd by This.

PASTORAL the Third. Palæmon.

Menalcas, Damætas, Palæmon.
Menalcas.
Are These, Damætas, Melibœus' Sheep?

Damætas.
No; Ægon's: Ægon gave them to my Care.

Menalcas.
O Sheep, still hapless Cattle! While He wooes
Neæra, and my Rival Int'rest fears;
Twice in each Hour this Hireling milks his Flock,
And drains the suckling Ewes, and starves the Lambs.

Damætas.
Less liberally tho', at least on Men,
(Remember That) such Scandal should be thrown:
We know by Whom, and in what sacred Cave
You too were—While the He-Goats look'd askance:
But thank the easy Nymphs; They saw, and smil'd.

Menalcas.
'Twas then belike; when Me they saw, for Spight,
Bark Mycon's Trees, and cut his tender Vines.

Damoetas.
Or here, by This old Beech; when Daphnis' Bow
And Shafts You broke: Which when thou saw'st (perverse
Menalcas) on the harmless Youth bestow'd;
With Envy Thou wert stung, and if no way
Thou could'st have done him Mischief, would'st have dy'd.

Menalcas.
If Slaves thus dare; What will their Masters do?
Did not I see You, Varlet, by Surprize
Filch Damon's Goat, Lycisca barking loud?
And when I cry'd, Now whither runs That Thief?
Look sharp there, Tityrus, and count thy Flock;
You skulk'd behind a Bush, and slunk away.

Damoetas.
Vanquish'd in Piping, ought he not to yield
The Goat which my excelling Reed had won?

If yet you know it not, That Goat was Mine:
Damon himself confess'd it, own'd the Debt;
Only pretended that he could not pay.

Menalcas.
Thou Him in Piping! Had'st thou e'er a Pipe
Jointed with Wax? Wert thou not wont, Thou Dolt,
In the Cross-ways, upon a screeching Straw,
To murder a vile Tune with viler Notes?

Damoetas.
Please you to try then what we Both can do?
I stake this Heifer; That you mayn't refuse,
Two Calves she suckles; twice is milk'd each Day:
Name You your Stake, and let the Match begin.

Menalcas.
Nought from my Flock I dare: At Home I live
With a hard Stepdame, and a jealous Sire;
Both number o'er the Cattle, One the Kids,
Twice ev'ry day. But, what Thyself shalt own
Of greater Value, (since thou art resolv'd
To be so Mad) two Beechen Bowls I'll lay,
The Carv'd-work of divine Alcimedon;

Round which the easy Graver has entwin'd
An Ivy's Berries, cloath'd with paler Leaves,
And mingled with the Tendrils of a Vine:

Two Figures in the Midst; Conon, and—Who
Was He that with a Wand describ'd the Globe
Thro' all it's various Realms: and thro' the Year
The Seasons when to reap, and when to plough?
New they are kept, and never touch'd my Lips.

Damoetas.
The same Alcimedon for Me too made
A Pair of Bowls, and with soft Foliage wreath'd
Their Handles; Orpheus in the Midst he plac'd,
Follow'd by list'ning Woods. New they are kept,
And never touch'd my Lips. If you regard
The Heifer; little Praise the Bowls deserve.

Menalcas.
Thou shalt not 'scape me so: Where-e'er You lead,
I follow; and your own Conditions take.

Let but Palæmon (see He comes this way)
Hear, and be Judge: I'll teach you to beware,
Henceforward, how you challenge Swains to sing.

Damoetas.
Come on then, if Th'hast aught of Skill; In Me
There's no Delay; Nor Any do I shun.
Only do Thou This Contest well attend,
Neighbour Palæmon; 'Tis no small Concern.

Palæmon.
Sing then; since on the verdant Turf we sit,
And now the Fields all teem, and ev'ry Tree:
Now bloom the Groves, now smiles the beauteous Year.
Begin, Damœtas; Thou come in by Turns,

Menalcas: In alternate Measures sing;
Alternate Measures please the Muses best.

Damoetas.
With Jove, ye Muses, let the Song begin;
All Things are full of Jove: He for the World
Provides indulgent, and my Verse regards.

Menalcas.
Me Phœbus loves; His Gifts are still with Me,
His sweetly-blushing Hyacinth, and Bays.

Damoetas.
Young Galatea, wanton Girl, in Sport
Pelts me with Apples: To the Willow-Grove
Then flys; but wishes not to fly unseen.

Menalcas.
To Me, unsent for, my Amyntas comes;
Nor Delia to our Dogs is better known.

Damoetas.
For my dear Love my Presents are prepar'd:
I've mark'd the Covert where the Stock-Doves build.

Menalcas.
Ten golden Apples from a Woodland Tree
(The best I could) to the dear Youth I sent;
To-morrow I will send as many more.

Damoetas.
O! what to Me did Galatea say!
How oft repeat it! Some of Those sweet Words,
Ye Winds, waft upwards; that the Gods may hear.

Menalcas.
What boots it me, Amyntas, that my Love
By Thee is not disdain'd; if, while the Boars
Thou huntest, I am set to watch the Toyls?

Damoetas.
Iölas, 'Tis my Birth-day; Phyllis send
To Me: and when a Heifer for the Fruits
We sacrifice, do Thou thy self assist.

Menalcas.
Phyllis above all Others is my Love,
Iölas: at our Parting, much She wept;
And long Adieu, she cry'd, fair Youth, Adieu.

Damoetas.
By Flocks the Wolf is dreaded; soaking Show'rs
By the ripe Harvests; By the Trees the Wind;
By Me my Amaryllis' angry Frown.

Menalcas.
Grateful is Dew to springing Corn; sweet Browze
To new-wean'd Kids; the bending Sallow's Leaves
To pregnant Ewes; Amyntas sole to Me.

Damoetas.
Pollio, tho' She be rustick, loves my Muse;
Ye Nine, a Heifer for your Reader feed.

Menalcas.
Pollio himself surprizing Verse indites:
Feed the Bull for him, which with pushing Horns
Already butts in Air, and spurns the Sand.

Damoetas.
Who loves Thee, Pollio, may he Thither rise
Whither he joys to see Thee ris'n: For Him
May Honey flow, and Spices bloom on Thorns.

Menalcas.
Who hates not Bavius, be he damn'd to love
Thy Metre, Mævius: And may That same Wight
With harness'd Foxes plough, and milk He-Goats.

Damoetas.
You, who crop Flow'rs, and Strawb'ries on the Ground,
Fly hence, Ye heedless Children; O! beware:
A deadly Snake lies lurking in the Grass.

Menalcas.
Trust not, my Sheep, the faithless Bank too far:
Ev'n now the Ram himself just dries his Fleece.

Damoetas.
Back from the River, Tityrus, remove
The feeding Goats: Myself, when 'tis the Time,
Will wash them all, plung'd in the limpid Spring.

Menalcas.
Boys; Fold your Sheep: If Summer dry the Milk,
As lately; we shall squeeze the Teat in vain.

Damoetas.
Alas! How meagre in a fertile Field
Is This my Bull! Love, the same Love alike
Both to the Herd, and Herdsman fatal proves.

Menalcas.
That These are lean, Love is not sure the Cause;
Yet thro' the Skin their starting Bones appear:
Some ill Eye fascinates my tender Lambs.

Damoetas.
Say Where, and my Apollo Thou shalt be,
The Sky in Breadth three Ells, no more, extends.

Menalcas.
Say, Where grow Flow'rs with Names of Kings inscrib'd:
And Phyllis shall be Thine, and Thine alone.

Palæmon.
'Tis not in Me This Contest to decide:
The Heifer He deserves, and Thou no less;
And Whosoe'er, like Both, can sing of Love;

It's Fears, when crown'd; It's Torments, when refus'd.
Swains, stop your Streams: The Meads have drank their Fill.

PASTORAL the Fourth. Pollio.

Sicilian Muses, raise a loftier Strain;
Not All in Groves, and lowly Shrubs delight:
If Woods we sing; so let the Song proceed,
That ev'n Those Woods may claim a Consul's Care.

The last great Æra, by Cumæan Verse
Of old predicted, is at length arriv'd;
The mighty Round of Years again revolv'd;
The Virgin now, and Saturn's Reign return;
And a new Offspring from high Heav'n descends.
Thou only, chaste Lucina, aid the Birth
Of This auspicious Boy; by whom the Race
Of Iron first shall end, and That of Gold
Shine on the World: Thy own Apollo reigns.
Beneath thy Fasces, Pollio, to adorn
Thy Consulship, This Glory of the Age
Shall rise; and mighty Months begin to roll.
Beneath Thy Sway, the Relicks of our Guilt
(If such be still remaining) quite effac'd
Shall from all future Terrors free the World.
He shall partake the Life of Gods; see Gods
And Heroes, and Himself by Them be seen;
And with his Father's Vertues rule the Globe,

In Peace. To Thee, sweet Infant, shall the Earth,
Yield her first Presents, by no Culture forc'd,
The wandring Ivy, and soft Violet,
The smiling Crocus, and the blushing Rose.
The Goats spontaneous homewards shall return,
Their Teats with Milk distended; and the Herds
Unterrify'd by monstrous Lions, feed.
Thy very Cradle with fresh Flow'rs shall spring;
The Serpent too shall die; the fraudful Herbs
Of noxious Poison wither, and decay;
And Syrian Spices bloom o'er all the World.
But when the Fame of Heroes thou shalt learn,
Read thy Sire's Deeds, and know what Vertue means;
Ripe yellow Harvests on the Fields shall wave,
The salvage Brambles blush with pendant Grapes,
And Honey from hard Oaks in Dew distil.
Yet of old Guilt some Footsteps shall remain,
Prompting to tempt the Sea with Ships, with Walls
Towns to inclose, with Ploughs to vex the Soil:
Another Tiphys o'er the Main shall waft
The chosen Chiefs, another Argo guide;

New warlike Expeditions shall be form'd,
And great Achilles sail again for Troy.
But when thy Age shall ripen into Man;
The Sailor shall renounce the Sea, no Ships
Traffick exchange: All Lands shall all things bear.
No Glebe shall feel the Harrow's Teeth, no Vine
The Pruning-hook; The sturdy Village-Hind
Shall then release his Oxen from the Yoke:
Nor chang'd by Art shall various Wool belye
It's native Colour; But in Pastures green
The Ram himself with Purple's glossy Hue,
Or Crocus' yellow Teint shall tinge his Fleece;
And unforc'd Crimson cloath the feeding Lambs.
The Sisters, by th'unmov'd Decree of Fate
Concordant, bade These Ages smoothly run.
Advance to mighty Honours, O! advance,

(The Time now comes) Thou great Increase of Jove,
Heav'n's darling. Offspring! See the globous Weight
Of Earth, of Heav'n, of Ocean, nod, and shake!
See how all Things enjoy the future Age.
O! May my Life's last Scene so long endure,

So much of Spirit, as to sing Thy Deeds!
Not Thracian Orpheus' self should me excel,
Nor Linus: Tho' his Mother Him should aid,
His Father Him; Calliope inspire
Orpheus, Apollo dictate Linus' Verse.
Should Pan himself, ev'n tho' Arcadia judg'd,
Contend with Me; Pan, tho' Arcadia judg'd,
Would yield Himself outsung. Begin, sweet Babe,

To know, and own thy Mother with a Smile;
Thy Mother ten long Months sick Qualms endur'd:
Begin sweet Babe: Unless the Parents smile;
Th'ill-omen'd Offspring never is advanc'd
To a God's Board, nor to a Goddess' Bed.

PASTORAL the Fifth. Daphnis.

Menalcas, Mopsus.
Menalcas.
Why, Mopsus, since we Both are skill'd in Song,
In piping Thou, and I in chanting Verse,
Sit we not Here, beneath These branching Elms,
With which the mingled Hazles blend their Boughs?

Mopsus.
The Elder Thou, Menalcas; 'Tis but just,
I should obey thee: Whether underneath
Th'uncertain Shades which with the Zephyrs wave;
Or rather in some Grot we sit: Behold
How the wild Vine creeps mantling round This Grot,
And with thin sprinkled Clusters cloaths it's Sides.

Menalcas.
Of all the Shepherds, who frequent These Hills,
Amyntas only can with Thee contend.

Mopsus.
And what if He with Phœbus should contend?

Menalcas.
Begin Thou, Mopsus; if Th'hast aught to sing
Of Phyllis' hapless Fires, or Alcon's Praise,
Or Codrus resolute to die: Begin;
Here's Tityrus shall tend thy feeding Kids.

Mopsus.
Rather Those Strains, which on a Beech's Bark
I lately noted, and alternate sung,
Ill try; Then bid Amyntas vie with Me.

Menalcas.
As the tough Willow to the Olive yields,
The Cowslip to the crimson Rose; so much
Amyntas, in my Judgment, yields to Thee.

Mopsus.
Shepherd, no more: We now have reach'd the Cave.
Daphnis, snatch'd hence by unrelenting Death,
The Nymphs deplor'd: Ye Hazles, and ye Rills,
You heard it; Witness, how the Nymphs deplor'd:
When, hugging her lov'd Son's lamented Coarse,
His Mother blam'd the cruel Gods and Stars.
Daphnis, not One at That ill-omen'd Time,
Drove his fed Cattle to the cooling Streams:
No Steed would taste the Brook, or touch the Grass.
Thy Death, the Woods, and desart Mountains tell,
Dear Daphnis, ev'n the Libyan Lions mourn'd.
Daphnis Armenian Tygers taught to join
In Harness; Daphnis taught the Bacchian Dance,
And with soft Leaves to wreath the bending Spears.
As of the Trees the Glory is the Vine;
Grapes of the Vine; of Herds, the Bull; the Corn,
Of fertile Fields; so Thou of all the Swains:
Ev'n Pales, when the Fates Thee snatch'd away,
And ev'n Apollo's self forsook the Fields.
Oft in Those Furrows, where plump Wheat we sow'd,
Unlucky Darnel, and wild Oats prevail:
Instead of the soft Violet, and gay
Glossy Narcissus, Thorns, and Thistles rise;
And Burs, and prickly Brambles choke the Glebe.

Ye Shepherds, Strew the Ground with Flow'rs; O'er shade
The Brooks with Boughs: Daphnis Those Rites demands.
And raise a Tomb, and on That Tomb inscribe:
“Fam'd in These Woods, ev'n to the Starry Sky,
“(Daphnis my Name) sweet Shepherd Here I lie;
“Fair was my Flock, but much more fair was I.

Menalcas.
Such, heav'nly Poet, is Thy Verse to Me,
As Slumbers to the Weary on the Grass;
Such as fresh purling Rills, in Summer's Heat,
To thirsty Travellers. Nor by thy Pipe
Alone, but by thy Voice thy Master's Skill
Is equal'd. Happy Youth! To Him the Next
Thou shalt be deem'd. Yet I too in my Turn,
Such as they are, My Numbers will repeat;
And raise thy Daphnis to the Stars; To Heav'n
Daphnis I'll raise: Me too thy Daphnis lov'd.

Mopsus.
Can aught by Me more highly be esteem'd,
Than such a Gift? The Youth deserv'd our Praise;
And Stimichon long since has prais'd thy Verse.

Menalcas.
Daphnis in Glory Heav'ns new Court admires;
And sees the Clouds and Stars, beneath his Feet:

For This the Woods, and all the Fields rejoice;
And Pan, and all the Swains, and Silvan Nymphs.
The Wolf against the Folds no wily Plots
Now meditates; nor Toyls to catch the Deer
Are set: Good Daphnis Peace, and Freedom loves.
Now ev'n the unshorn Mountains raise with Joy
Their Voices to the Stars: Now ev'n the Rocks
And Woods This Verse resound; The God, the God,
Menalcas: Be propitious, O! be kind
To thy Adorers. See four Altars here;
Two for Thee, Daphnis, and for Phœbus two.
Each Year two Goblets froathing with new Milk,
To Thee I'll offer; two of fattest Oil;
And chiefly with much Bacchus cheer the Feast;
In Winter, round the Fire; in Summer's Heat,
Beneath the Shade; rich Chian Wine I'll pour,
Wine rich as Nectar, from capacious Bowls.
To me shall Ægon, and Damœtas sing;

Alphesibœus, like the Satyrs, dance.
These sacred Rites for ever shall be Thine;
When solemn Off'rings to the Nymphs we pay,
And when we lead the Victim round the Fields.
While Boars love Mountains' Tops, while Fish the Streams;
While Bees suct Thyme, while Grashoppers the Dew;
Thy Honour, Name, and Praise shall ever live:
To Bacchus, and to Ceres as the Swains
Make annual Vows, such shall they make to Thee;
Thou too shalt be invok'd, and hear our Pray'rs.

Mopsus.
What Recompence to Thee for such a Song
Shall I return? For neither does the Breeze
Of whisp'ring Zephyr, when it rises fresh,
Bless me so much: Nor Waves that beat the Shore;
Nor Rivers, which thro' stony Valleys glide.

Menalcas.
To Thee This slender Reed I first present:
This taught me, “Corydon with hopeless Fires,
This too, “Damœtas, Melibœus' Sheep?

Mopsus.
And Thou This Sheephook take; which often begg'd
Of Me, Antigenes could never gain;
Tho' oft he begg'd, and then too he deserv'd
My Friendship. See, Menalcas, how it shines,
With even Knots, and polish'd Brass adorn'd.

PASTORAL the Sixth. Silenus.

First my Thalia in Sicilian Verse
Deign'd to disport, nor blush'd to haunt the Groves:
When Kings and Arms I sung; Apollo twitch'd
My Ear, and warn'd me; Tityrus a Swain
Should feed his fattling Lambs, play humbler Notes.
Now I (for Others, Varus' will be found
To chant Thy Praises, and record Thy Wars)
Indulge my slender Reed, and rural Muse.
'Tis by Command I sing: Yet This, ev'n This
If any, smit with fond Desire, shall read;
Thee, Varus, Thee our Shrubs, and ev'ry Lawn
Shall sound; nor any Page please Phœbus more,
Than That which shines, inscrib'd with Varus' Name.

Say, Muses. Chromis, and Mnasylus saw
Stretch'd in his Cave Silenus sleeping lie;
His Veins full swoln with yesterday's Debauch,
As usual: From his Head at distance fall'n

His Garland lay; and, with it's Handle worn,
His pond'rous Tankard hung. They (for the Sire
Had often with the Promise of a Song
Deceiv'd them Both) approach, and bind him fast
With Manacles from his own Garland made.
Them, unresolv'd, and tim'rous, Ægle joins,
Ægle, the fairest Nymph that rules the Streams;
And now, ev'n while he sees it, with the Blood
Of Mulberries his Brow, and Temples stains.
He smiling at their Play; And why These Bonds?
Release me, Boys; Suffice it that by You
I have been seen: The Song You wish, attend:
A Song for You; The Nymph shall in her Turn
Be otherwise oblig'd. He Then begins.
Then might you see the Fauns, and savage Beasts
Dance in just Measures, and the rigid Oaks
Bow their stiff Heads: Nor does Parnassus' Top

So much rejoice in Phœbus, nor so much
Do Thracian Mountains Orpheus' Verse admire.
For There he sung, how thro' the mighty Void
The Seeds of Earth, and Water, Air, and Fire,
Consolidated met; How first from These
The Elements, and the World's recent Globe
Compounded rose: How then the firmer Soil
Grew hard, and in it's Chanel shut the Sea,
And by degrees of various Things receiv'd
Th'unnumber'd Species: How the Earth admir'd
To see the new-born Sun with glory shine;
How Show'rs from high-hung Clouds distill'd; When first
The Woods began to rise; and thin, dispers'd,
The Animals o'er unknown Mountains rov'd.
Next Pyrrha's Race he sings, from Stones transform'd,
Caucasean Vulturs, and Prometheus Theft,

And Saturn's Reign. To These he adds the Brook,
O'er which the Sailors on lost Hylas call'd,
And ev'ry Shore with Hylas, Hylas, rung.
Rasiphae's Passion for the Snow-white Bull
He then consoles; Pasiphae, happy Dame,
Happy, if Herds of Neat had never been:
Ah! wretched Queen! What Frenzy turns thy Brain?
The Prætides with fancy'd Lowings fill'd
The Pastures; Yet of Them none sought such foul
Embraces; tho' they fear'd the Plough, and oft
In their smooth Foreheads, dubious, felt for Horns.
Ah! wretched Queen! Thou o'er the pathless Hills
Art wand'ring: He, his snow-white Side reclin'd
On a soft Hyacinth, beneath an Oak
O'ershading, ruminates the paler Grass;
Or courts some Female of the num'rous Herd:

Ye Nymphs, Dictæan Nymphs, beset the Glades,
And Passes of the Thickets; Chance may bring
His wandring Footsteps obvious to our Sight;
Perhaps some Heifers to Gortynian Stalls
May lead him, or with verdant Grass entic'd,
Or following his own accustom'd Herds.
The Virgin, who Hesperian Apples lov'd,
He sings the next. Then binds with mossy Bark
Young Phaeton's Sisters, and tall Poplars rears.
Then Gallus, wand'ring near Permessus' Stream,
He sings; How One among the Sacred Nine
Conducted him to see th'Aönian Mount;
How to the Bard all Phœbus' Quire arose;
And how the Shepherd Linus, crown'd with Flow'rs,
And bitter Parsley, Thus in Verse divine
Address'd him: Take This Pipe, the Muses' Gift,
Which to'th'Ascræan Senior erst they gave;
With which from Hills the rigid Oaks he drew.
With This sing Thou the Birth of Gryneum's Grove,
And let no Grove be more Apollo's Pride.
Why should I tell how Scylla, Nisus-born,

With barking Monsters, round her Waist, inclos'd,
Vex'd the Dulichian Ships (so Fame relates)
And in the gulphy Ocean, dire to see!
With wild Sea-Dogs the trembling Sailors tore?
Or how of Tereus' metamorphos'd Form
He sung; for Him what Present, what a Feast
By vengeful Philomela was prepar'd,
With what a Flight he sought the desart Woods,
On the same Wings, with which, (ill-fated Change!)
He flutter'd round the Palace once his own?
All, which of old by singing Phœbus' bless'd,
Eurotas heard, and bade its Laurels learn,

Silenus sung; The echoing Vales return
The Sounds, and beat them backwards to the Stars:
'Till Vesper warn'd to fold, and count, the Flocks;
And rose unwelcome on the list'ning Sky.

PASTORAL the Seventh. Meliboeus.

Meliboeus, Corydon, Thyrsis.
Meliboeus.
By chance beneath the Covert of an Oak,
That whisper'd with the Breezes, Daphnis sate;
And Corydon, and Thyrsis to one Place
Together drew their Flocks; Thyrsis, his Sheep;
His milch Goats, Corydon; Arcadians Both,
Both flourishing in Youth, well pair'd to sing,
And ready with Each other's Skill to vie.
Here my He-Goat, the Father of my Flock,
Himself stray'd from me, while a Fence I made
To guard my tender Myrtles from the Cold.
Daphnis I saw; and soon as He saw Me,
Come hither, Melibœus, strait He cry'd;
Thy Goat, and Kids are safe; If aught Thou hast
Of Leisure, rest a-while beneath This Shade.
Hither thy Bullocks thro' the Meads will come
To Wat'ring; Mincius here with trembling Reeds
Clothes the green Banks, and from a sacred Oak

The clustring Bees with pleasing Murmur sound.
What should I do? Nor Phyllis was at home,
Nor yet Alcippe, to shut up my Lambs
New-wean'd: Yet since a mighty Match in Song
'Twixt Corydon, and Thyrsis was propos'd;
Their Play to my own Bus'ness I preferr'd:
Then in alternate Verse They both began;
The Muses dictated alternate Verse:
These Corydon recited, Thyrsis Those.

Corydon.
Ye Nymps, Libethrian Nymphs, my dear Delight;
Or give me, like my Codrus, Verse to sing;

(He sings the next to Phœbus:) Or if That
We cannot All obtain; my tuneful Reed
Shall here hang useless on This sacred Pine.

Thyrsis.
Ye Swains, with Ivy crown your rising Bard;
That Codrus' Spleen may burst with envious Spight:
Or if he load Him with immod'rate Praise,
With Baccar bind his Brows; lest That ill Tongue
Should hurt the future Poet's growing Fame.

Corydon.
This bristly Boar's huge Head, These branching Horns
Of the long-living Stag young Mycon vows,
Delia, to Thee: If such Success be Mine
Perpetual; in smooth Marble Thou shalt stand,
Full Length, Thy Legs with purple Buskins bound.

Thyrsis.
Suffice it Thee, Priapus, to expect
Each Year a Pail of Milk, and Cakes like These:
A small penurious Garden is Thy Care.
In Marble, for the present, Thou must stand;
But if the teeming Ewes with Lambs recruit
My Flock now lessen'd; Thou shalt shine in Gold.

Corydon.
Sweet Galatea, Nymph to Me more sweet
Than Hybla's Thyme, than Swans more white, more fair
Than the pale Ivy; Come, if aught Thou love
Thy Corydon, soon as the well-fed Steers
Shall from the Pastures to their Stalls return.

Thyrsis.
And may I, beauteous Maid, to Thee appear
More bitter than Sardinian poys'nous Herbs,
More rough than Gorse, more vile than with'ring Weeds:
If This Day be not longer than a Year
To Me: Go home, fed Bullocks, go for Shame.

Corydon.
Ye mossy Founts, and Grass more soft than Sleep,

With the green Arbutus, whose thin-spred Boughs
O'ershade you; from the Solstice' burning Heat
Defend the Flocks: Now scorching Summer comes,
And in the fruitful Tendrils swells the Gems.

Thyrsis.
Here glows the Hearth, here pitchy Pines, and Fire
Abound; Here black with Soot the Lintels smoke.
Here Boreas' Cold we just as much regard,
As Wolves the Sheep, or torrent Streams the Shore.

Corydon.
Here Junipers, and husky Chesnuts grow;
Beneath each Tree it's Apples strew the Ground:
Tho' all things smile; if fair Alexis leave
These Hills, You'll see the very Rivers dry.

Thyrsis.
Scorch'd are the Fields; The Herbage dies with Thirst.
Beneath the vicious Air: Illib'ral grown
Bacchus denies the Hills his viny Shades:
Yet when my Phyllis comes; each Lawn shall smile,
And plenteous Jove in fertile Show'rs descend.

Corydon.
To Hercules the Poplar is most dear;
The Vine to Bacchus; To the Cyprian Dame
The Myrtle; To Apollo his own Bay:
Phyllis the Hazles loves; While Them She loves,
Them nought excels the Myrtle, or the Bay.

Thyrsis.
In Groves the Beech, in Gardens is the Pine
Most beautiful; The Poplar near the Streams;
On the high Mountains' Tops the stately Fir:
Yet, lovely Lycidas, if oft Thou come
To visit me; Thou, beauteous, shalt excel
The Pine in Gardens, and the Beech in Groves.

Meliboeus.
This I remember; and that quite outsung
Thyrsis in vain contended: From That Time
'Tis Corydon, 'tis Corydon for Me.

PASTORAL the Eighth. Pharmaceutria.

Damon, Alphesiboeus.

Of Damon's, and Alphesibœus' Muse,
Contending Swains, Whose Songs the Herds admir'd,
Mindless of Pasture; while the list'ning Lynx'
Stood motionless, and Rivers stop'd their Course;
Of Damon's, and Alphesibœus' Muse
The Numbers we repeat. Thou, matchless Chief,
Aid my Attempt: Whether Thou pass the Rocks
Of wide Timavus' Stream; or coast along
Th'Illyrian Shore. Will that Day never come,
When 'twill be giv'n me to record Thy Deeds?
Will it be never giv'n me to diffuse

Thro' all the World Thy Verse, which sole deserves
The Sophoclëan Buskin's Fame? With Thee
Commenc'd my Labours, and with Thee shall end.
Accept These Lays by Thy Command begun;
And let this Ivy-Wreath, Thy Temples round,
Creep intermingled with Thy conqu'ring Bays.

Scarce had the humid Shades of Night retir'd;
When to the Cattle on the Grass, the Dew
Most grateful rises: Leaning on the Trunk
Of a round Olive, Damon Thus began.

Damon.

Rise, Lucifer, and previous bring the Day;

While I, deceiv'd by ill-requited Love
Of perjur'd Nisa, pour forth my Complaint;
And to the Gods (tho' Me, by Oaths invok'd,
They nought avail'd) with my last Breath appeal.

Begin with me, my Pipe, Mænalian Strains.
On Mænalus a Grove of whisp'ring Pines
Still grows; He always hears the Shepherd's Loves,
And Pan, who first taught Reeds their tuneful Sound.

Begin with me, my Pipe, Mænalian Strains.
To Mopsus (What may not We Lovers hope?)
Nisa is wedded: Gryffons now shall match
With Horses; In the next succeeding Age
The tim'rous Deer with Dogs shall drink the Streams.

New Torches, Mopsus, cut; Thy Bride comes home:
Strew thy Nuts, Bridegroom; Hesper sets for Thee.

Begin with me, my Pipe, Mænalian Strains.
O! worthily espous'd, disdainful Fair,
To a fit Spouse! While Others are Thy Scorn,
While hateful are my Flocks, and Pipe to Thee,
My shaggy Eyebrows, and my unshorn Beard:
Nor think'st Thou Heav'n regards what Mortals do.

Begin with me, my Pipe, Mænalian Strains.
Thee, with Thy Mother, in our Meads I saw,

Gath'ring fresh Apples; I myself your Guide;
Then Thou wert little; I, just then advanc'd
To my twelfth Year, could barely from the Ground
Touch with my reaching Hand the tender Boughs:
How did I look! How gaze my Soul away!
How did I die! in fatal Error lost!

Begin with me, my Pipe, Mænalian Strains.
Now what is Love I know: From flinty Rocks
Him Ismarus, and Rhodope disclos'd;
Or the wild Garamantes bore; a Boy
Of Race not Ours, and alien from our Blood.

Begin with me, my Pipe, Mænalian Strains.
Inhuman Love th'unnat'ral Mother taught
To dip her Hands in her own Children's Blood:
Cruel indeed the Mother; Was She then
More cruel? Or more impious that dire Boy?
Impious the Boy, the Mother cruel too.

Begin with me, my Pipe, Mænalian Strains.
Now let the Sheep pursue the Wolf; hard Oaks
Bear golden Apples; on the Alder bloom
Narcissus; Tamerisks rich Amber sweat;
The Owls in Singing with the Swans contend;
Be Tityrus a second Orpheus deem'd,
Orpheus in Woods, Arion in the Sea.

Begin with me, my Pipe, Mænalian Strains.
Let all Things be confus'd; Sea mix with Land:
Ye Groves, farewel: From yon aëreal Rock
Headlong I'll plunge into the foamy Deep.

Take This last Gift which dying I bequeath.

Cease now, my Pipe, now cease Mænalian Strains.
Thus Damon: What Alphesibœus sung,
Ye Muses, say: All things we cannot All.

Alphesiboeus.

Bring hither Water, bind the Altars round
With a soft Fillet; Fertil Vervain burn,
And strongest Frankincense: That I may try
With sacred Magick Rites to turn the Brain
Of Him I love; Nought here, but Charms we want.

Bring Daphnis, bring him from the Town, my Charms.
Charms ev'n from Heav'n can conjure down the Moon:
Circe with Charms Ulysses' Mates transform'd:
In Meadows the cold Snake with Charms is burst.

Bring Daphnis, bring him from the Town, my Charms.
First these three Lists distinct with Colours three
Round Thee I bind; Thrice round the Altars lead
Thy Image: Heav'n uneven Numbers loves.

Bring Daphnis, bring him from the Town, my Charms.
Three Colours, Amaryllis, in three Knots
Industrious knit; Quick, Amaryllis, quick:
Knit them; and say, 'Tis Venus' Knot I tie.

Bring Daphnis, bring him from the Town, my Charms.
As This Clay hardens, and This Wax grows soft
By the same Fire; so Daphnis by my Love.
Crumble This Cake; and with Bitumen burn
These crackling Bays: Me cruel Daphnis burns;
And I on cruel Daphnis burn These Bays.

Bring Daphnis, bring him from the Town, my Charms.
May Love, like That with which the Heifer raves,
When thro' the Thickets, and high Woods, fatigu'd
She seeks the Bull, then near a River's Stream

Restless lies down, amidst the verdant Sedge,
Nor minds at latest Ev'ning to return;
May such Love Daphnis seize, nor I take care
To ease his Frenzy, or abate his Pain.

Bring Daphnis, bring him from the Town, my Charms.
These Relicks, these dear Pledges of Himself
With me long since the faithless Shepherd left:
These now, ev'n in the Entrance, I commit,
O Earth, to Thee: Daphnis these Pledges owe.

Bring Daphnis, bring him from the Town, my Charms.
These Poisons, and These magick Simples, cull'd
In Pontus (many such in Pontus grow)
Sage Mœris gave me: Oft with These I've seen
Mœris into a Wolf himself transform,
And howling seek the Woods; oft raise up Ghosts
From Graves; and Crops to Fields not theirs transfer.

Bring Daphnis, bring him from the Town, my Charms.
These Ashes, Amaryllis, forth convey;
Throw them into the River, o'er thy Head,
And look not back: Daphnis with These I'll try;
He nought the Gods, nor aught our Charms regards.

Bring Daphnis, bring him from the Town, my Charms
Behold, the Ashes, while I thus delay

To bear them hence, now lick the Altar round
With trembling Flames, spontaneous; May it prove
Auspicious: Something sure, I know not What,
There is; and Hylax in the Entrance bays.
May I believe it? Or do Those who love
Dream of the Bliss which fondly they desire?

Cease: Daphnis comes from Town; now cease, my Charms.

PASTORAL the Ninth. Moeris.

Lycidas, Moeris.
Lycidas.
Whither goes Mœris? What? Next way to Town?

Moeris.
O Lycidas, We've liv'd so long, to see,
What we ne'er fear'd, Things come to such a Pass;
That an Intruder at our Farm should cry
To the old Farmers, This is Mine, Be gone:
Now outed from our Own, in dreary Plight,
To Him, since all Things are by Fortune chang'd,

These Kidlings (may they choak him) We convey.

Lycidas.
Why sure I heard, that where the Hills begin
To lessen by an easy soft Descent,
Down to the Water, and the stunted Beech,
Menalcas with his Verse had sav'd it All.

Moeris.
Thou heard'st it, Lycidas, and so 'twas said:
But Verse, in War, has just as much of Pow'r,
As Turtles, when the sowsing Eagle comes.
But had not, croaking from a hollow Holm,
The Raven warn'd me This new Strife to end
At any Rate; nor had Thy Mœris here,
Nor had Menalcas' self, been now alive.

Lycidas.
Alas! could Any think so foul a Crime?
And was (alas!) our Solace, our Delight
With Thee, Menalcas, almost snatch'd away?
Who then should sing the Nymphs? Who strew the Ground

With Flow'rs? Or with green Boughs the Fountains shade?
Or chant Those Lays, which I from Thee of late,
In my lov'd Amaryllis' Grot, purloin'd?
“Feed, Tityrus, my Goats 'till I return;
“'Tis but a little Way; When they are fed,
“Drive them to Wat'ring, Tityrus; and while
“Thou dost it, 'ware the He-Goat's butting Horn.

Moeris.
Or rather These, which He to Varus sung
Yet uncorrect: “Let Mantua still be Ours,
“Mantua (alas for her unhappy Fate!)
“Too near Cremona; Be but This bestow'd:
“Varus, the singing Swans with tow'ring Flight
“Sublime, shall raise Thy Glory to the Stars.

Lycidas.
So may Thy Swarms avoid Cyrnæan Eughs,
So may Thy Kine well fed with Trefoil-Flow'rs
Distend their Dugs; If aught Thou hast, begin.
Me too the Muses (I too have my Verse)
A kind of Rhymer made: Me too the Swains
A Poet call; But there my Faith is slow.
For nothing can I yet, I think, indite
Worthy of Varus', or of Cinna's Ear;
But scream, a Goose among the tuneful Swans.

Moeris.
That, Lycidas, I'm conning in my Mind;
And, could I hit it, 'tis no vulgar Verse.

“Come hither, Galatea: What Delight
“Can the Sea give? Here blooms the purple Spring;
“Here various Flow'rs, the winding Rivers round,
“The Earth pours forth; Here the pale Poplar hangs
“O'er our cool Grot; and intermingled Vines
“With pliant Tendrils weave a gentle Shade.
“Come hither; Let the mad Waves beat the Shore.

Lycidas.
And what are Those, which once I heard thee sing
In a clear Night alone? The Tune I well
Remember; could I recollect the Words.

Moeris.
“Daphnis, The Rising of the ancient Signs
“Why dost thou still admire? Behold, the Star
“Of Dionæan Cæsar rolls along;
“A Star, by which the Fields shall laugh with Corn,

“And on warm Hills the purple Clusters swell.
“Daphnis, inoculate thy Pear-Trees now,
“And late Posterity shall crop Thy Fruit.
Age all Things, ev'n the Mind itself, impairs.
Oft, I remember, when a Boy, I sung,
Whole Summers' Days, the Sun quite down the Sky:
So many Verses now to Me are lost;
Mœris ev'n of his Voice is now bereft:
Wolves have seen Mœris, e'er Themselves were seen.
But oft to Thee Menalcas' self shall sing.

Lycidas.
By These Excuses, and This long Delay,
Thou dost but whet my Appetite the more.
And now behold the Sea lies smooth, and all
The Blasts of murm'ring Winds are hush'd in Peace.
From hence too 'tis no more than Half our Way;
For see, Bianor's Tomb begins to rise.
Here, where the Shepherds strip the Leaves from Boughs,

Here, Mœris, let us sing; Here lay thy Kids:
Yet we shall reach the Town: Or, if before
We reach it, Night we fear, and gath'ring Rain;
Yet singing let us go: our Walk will less
Fatiguing prove: That singing we may go,
I'll ease thy Shoulders, and This Burthen bear.

Moeris.
Shepherd, no more; Mind we our present Charge:
We shall sing better, when Himself arrives.

PASTORAL the Tenth. Gallus.

Indulge me, Arethusa, This my Last
Of Labours: To my Gallus must be paid
Some Verse, which ev'n Lycoris may peruse:
What Bard to Gallus can a Verse deny?
So while Thou glid'st beneath Sicanian Waves,
May brackish Doris never mix with Thine.
Begin; and while the Goats the Thickets browze,
Let us relate how Gallus pin'd with Love.
Nor sing we to the Deaf; The Woods reply.

What Groves, ye Nymphs, detain'd you hence? What Lawns?
When Gallus dy'd of Love's tormenting Wound?
For 'twas not Cynthus' nor Parnassus' Top,
Nor yet Aonian Aganippe's Stream.

Him lonely, stretch'd beneath a desart Rock,
Ev'n the low Shrubs, and ev'n the Laurels mourn'd;
Him piny Mænalus, and the tall Cliffs
Of bleak Lycæus. Round him stood the Sheep;
For they too sympathize with human Woe:
Them, Heav'nly Poet, blush not Thou to own:
Ev'n fair Adonis, did not scorn to tend
Along the River's side, his fleecy Charge.
To Him the slow-pac'd Herdsmen, and the Swains,
And wet with Winter-Mast Menalcas came;
All ask, Whence This thy Love? Apollo came;
Gallus, What Frenzy This? Thy Care Lycoris
Follows Another, thro' rough Camps, and Snows.
Sylvanus came, with rural Honours crown'd,
Boughs, and big Lilies nodding round his Head.
Pan came, th'Arcadian God, whom We ourselves
Have seen, with red Vermilion, and the Blood
Of Elder-berries stain'd: Where will This end?
He said; Love heeds it not: Nor Meads with Streams
Are satisfy'd, nor Goats with Browze, nor Bees
With Trefoil-Flow'rs, nor cruel Love with Tears.

But pensive He: Yet You these Tears shall sing,
Arcadians, on your Hills; ye only skill'd
In Song: O! softly then my Bones shall rest,
If You in future times shall sing my Loves.
O! had kind Fortune made me one of You,
Keeper of Flocks, or Pruner of the Vine:
Were Phyllis, or Amyntas my Desire,
Or any Other; (and what Fault, tho' black
Amyntas be? Violets, and Hyacinths
Are black:) Sure either would with Me repose,
Amidst the Willows, under the soft Vine,
Phyllis weave Garlands, and Amyntas sing.
See, here, cool Springs, Lycoris, Meads, and Groves;
Here I could melt all Life away with Thee.
Now frantick Love amidst thick Darts and Foes
Detains me in the rigid Toil of Arms.
While Thou (but can I yet believe 'tis so?)
Far from thy native Soil art wand'ring o'er

The Alpine Snows, or near the frozen Rhine,
Ah! cruel! Not with me. Ah! how I fear
Lest the sharp Cold should pierce thee, or the Ice
On the rough Mountains cut thy tender Feet.
I'll go, and sing my Chalcis' Strains, compos'd
To the Sicilian Shepherd's tuneful Reed:
It is resolv'd; To Wilds, and Dens of Beasts
I'll fly, and any Pain, but This, endure;
On the Trees' tender Bark inscribe my Love,
And with the growing Bark my Love shall grow.
Meanwhile among the Woodland Nymphs I'll rove
O'er Mænalus, or hunt the foaming Boar;
In spight of Frosts-Parthenian Thickets round
I'll pitch my Toyls; Now, now, methinks I go
O'er Rocks, thro' sounding Woods, shoot Cretian Shafts,
And twang the Parthian Horn: As if Those Sports
Could prove a Med'cine to my frantick Pain,
Or Love could learn to pity human Woes.
And now again the Nymphs can please no more;
Nor ev'n my Verse; Ev'n You, ye Groves, farewel.
No Toils of Ours the cruel God can change;
Whether we drink of Hebrus' frozen Stream,
And rainy Winter, and Sithonian Snows.

Endure; or, when the dying Bark is scorch'd
Round the tall Elm, we tend our Flocks beneath
The Tropick of the Ethiopian Crab:
Love conquers All, and We must yield to Love.

Thus much, Ye Muses, has your Poet sung,
(Let This suffice) while underneath a Shade
He sate, and Baskets with smooth Osiers wove.
You shall for Gallus dignify This Verse;
Gallus, for whom my Friendship grows each Hour,
As the green Alder, when the Spring returns.
Rise we; The Shade is noxious, while we sing:
Noxious, if we delay, is ev'n the Shade
Of Juniper: The Shade too hurts the Fruit:
Go, my fed Goats; The Ev'ning comes; Go home.

The End of the Pastorals.

VIRGIL's GEORGICKS.

BOOK the First.

What makes the Fields rejoice; beneath what Stars
To turn the Glebe; and Vines adjoin to Elms,
Mæcenas; what the Care of lowing Herds;
The Culture apt for Cattle; and how great

Th'Experience of the parsimonious Bee;
I here attempt to sing. Ye brightest Lamps
Of Heav'n, who with your Influence cheer the World,
And thro' the Sky roll round the sliding Year;
Liber, and foodful Ceres: If the Earth
By your Indulgence chang'd Chaönian Mast
For Corn, and from the new-discover'd Grape
With Achelöian Bev'rage mingled Wine;
And You, propitious Rural Deitys,
Ye Fauns, and Silvan Nymphs assist my Verse:
Your Gifts I sing. And Thou, at whose Command
The Parent Earth a sprightly Steed disclos'd,
Struck with thy awful Trident, Neptune, hear;

Thou too, for whom in fertil Cæa's Woods,
Three hundred snow-white Steers the Bushes browze;
Thyself, Protector of the fleecy Flocks,
(If aught thy Mænalus employ thy Care)
Tegeæan Pan, be present to my Song,
And leave a-while thy own Lycæus' Groves.
Thou too, Producer of the Olive-Plant,
Minerva; with the Youth who shew'd Mankind
The first Invention of the crooked Plough;
And Thou, Sylvanus, bearing in thy Hand
A sapling Cypress from its Roots up-torn.
And all ye Gods, and Goddesses, who tend
The Fields, and studious o'er their Fruits preside;
You, who perpetuate them with Seed; and You,
Who with large Show'rs refresh That Seed from Heav'n.
And Thou, the Chief, whose Seat among the Gods

Is yet uncertain; Whether o'er the Earth,
Cæsar, thy Deity shall chuse to reign,
And o'er it's Cities; while the spacious Globe
Shall Thee acknowledge Donor of it's Food,
And Sov'reign of the Seasons, and thy Head
With thy celestial Mother's Myrtle bind.
Or whether thy Divinity shall rule
The boundless Deep; the Mariners thy Aid
Alone invoke; extremest Thulè own
Thy Sway; while Tethys sues to call thee Son,
And offers all her Ocean's Waves in Dow'r.
Or whether to the tardy Months thou add
Another Constellation; where a Space
Between Erigone, and Scorpio's Arms

Is vacant: See! the burning Scorpion Now,
Ev'n Now, contracts his Claws, and leaves for Thee
A more than just Proportion of the Sky.
Whate'er Thou chuse to be; (for let not Hell
Hope to enjoy Thy Reign, nor let so dire
A Love of Empire harbour in Thy Breast;
Tho' fondly Greece admires th'Elysian Fields,
Nor cares Proserpina to reascend
Following her Mother:) To my Verse indulge
A smooth Carrier, and aid my bold Design;
And pitying, with Me, the simple Swains
Unknowing of their Way, ev'n now invok'd,
Practise the God, and learn to hear our Pray'rs.

With Spring's first Op'ning, when dissolving Snows
From hoary Mountains run, and Zephyr slacks
The crumbling Glebe; ev'n Then my Steers and Plough
In the deep Furrow shall begin to groan,
And the sleek Share to glitter from the Toil.
That Tilth at last rewards the greedy Hind,
And answers all his Hopes, which twice has felt
The Sun, and twice the Frost: By This Manure
Harvests immense shall burst his crouded Barns.

But e'er our Coulter cut the untry'd Mold;
The Winds, and various Temper of the Sky,
Each Region's Genius, and peculiar Taste,
And what by each is born, and what refus'd,
Be it our Care to learn. Here Corn, there Grapes
More happy grow; Elsewhere, Fruit-Trees, and Grass-
Unbidden. Scest thou not how Tmolus sends
It's Saffron Odours? India, Ivory?
The soft Sabaans, aromatick Sweets?
The naked Chalybes, their Iron Ore?

Pontus, it's Castor's Drug? Epirus, Steeds
Born for the Glory of th'Eleian Palm?
These Laws eternal, these Conditions fix'd
Nature on ev'ry diff'rent Clime impos'd;
What time Deucalion thro' th'unpeopled World
First Stones behind him threw: Whence Human Race
A hardy Species was restor'd. Observe
This Precept then; and in the early Spring
Let thy strong Oxen turn the richer Soil;
And dusty Summer with maturest Suns
Bake the inverted Clods. But if the Land
Prove light, and steril; with Arcturus' Star
Appearing, 'twill suffice thee to imprint
A thinner Furrow. There, lest Weeds molest
The sturdy Grain: Here, lest the little Moisture
Exhaling should desert the barren Sand.
Alternate too thou shalt permit to rest

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The late-shorn Fallows, and the idle Mold
To harden, and with Scurff be overgrown:
Or, with the Season chang'd, thou There shalt sow
The yellow Wheat; first having thence remov'd
The rank luxuriant Pulse, with trembling Pods,
Or the thin Vetches, and the brittle Stalks
Of bitter Lupines, and the russling Grove.
For Flax, and Oats, and Poppies steep'd in Dew
Of drowsy Lethe dry th'exhausted Fields.
Yet easy will th'alternate Labour prove:
Only disdain not Thou with fatt'ning Dung
To feed th'impov'rish'd Mold, nor yet to spread
Unsightly Ashes o'er the heartless Glebe.
So with a Change of Grain the Land will rest:

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Nor nought th'Advantage of a fallow Soil.
Oft too it has been gainful found to burn
The barren Fields with Stubble's crackling Flames.
Whether from thence they secret Strength receive,
And richer Nutriment: Or by the Fire
All latent Mischief, and redundant Juice
Oozing sweats off: Or whether the same Heat
Opens the hidden Pores, that new Supplies
Of Moisture may refresh the recent Blades:
Or hardens more, and with astringent force
Closes the gaping Veins; lest drisling Show'rs
Should soke too deep, or the Sun's parching Rays,
Or Boreas' piercing Cold should dry the Glebe.

Much too He helps his Tilth, who with the Rake
Breaks the hard lumpish Clods, and o'er them draws
The osier Harrow; nor his Toils in vain
Does yellow Ceres from high Heav'n regard.
And He, who having turn'd the Soil, again

102

Cuts thro' the Ridges with the Share athwart
Directed; with repeated Labour plies
The Ground industrious, and commands his Fields.
For show'ry Summers, and for Winter's Suns,
Ye Farmers, pray: In Winter's Dust the Corn,
And Fields rejoice: In no Manure so proud
Does Mysia glory; nor for aught so much
Does Gargarus it's plenteous Crops admire.

What should I say of Him; who, having sown
His Grain, with ceaseless Industry proceeds,
And spreads abroad the Heaps of barren Sand?
Then to the springing Blades sequacious Rills
Entices? and, when with'ring Herbs betray
The Soil adust, from some steep Mountain's Brow
In Gutters Water draws? That gurgling falls,
With gentle Murmur, down the slipp'ry Stones;
And with it's Streams relieves the thirsty Mold.

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Or what of Him; who, lest the Stalks, o'ercharg'd
By the plump Ears, should sink beneath their Weight,
Crops their Luxuriance in the tender Blade,
When first their Tops ev'n with the Furrows rise?
Or last of Him; who from the soaking Sand
The stagnating collected Puddle drains?
Chiefly, when Rivers, in th'uncertain Months,
Swell o'er their Banks; and all the Country round
Cover the Soil with slimy Mud; from whence
The hollow Dykes with tepid Moisture sweat.
Nor nought, besides, (tho' all Those other Ills
In Tillage are by lab'ring Hinds and Steers
Experienc'd) does the guilty Goose offend;
Strymonian Cranes; and Endive's bitter Root;
And nocent Shade. The Sire of Gods himself
Will'd not that Tillage should be free from Toil.
He first sollicited the restive Mold

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By Art; and whetted mortal Wit with Cares,
Permitting not his Reign to rust with Sloth.

E'er Jove was King, no Hinds subdued the Glebe:
Nor lawful was it held to sever Lands,
Or mark their Bounds: In Common all things lay;
And Earth without Compulsion yielded Food.
He baneful Poyson to fell Serpents gave;
Commanded Wolves to proul, the Sea to toss,
From Trees the Honey shook, conceal'd the Fire:
And all in Streams repress'd the running Wine.
That Want by Thought might strike out various Arts,
Gradual; in Furrows seek the Blade of Corn;
And by Collision from the Veins of Flint
Extund the latent Fire. Then Rivers first
Felt hollow'd Timber: The Sea-firing Crew
Then first gave Names, and Numbers to the Stars,
The Pleiads, Hyads, and the Northern Bear.
'Twas then invented to intangle Beasts
In Toyls, and Fowl with Bird-lime to deceive;
And with stanch Hounds the Thickets to inclose.
One with his Casting-Net, launch'd on the Deep,
Beats the broad River: From the deeper Sea
Another drags along his dropping Twine.
Then rigid Iron, and the grating Saw,

105

With Wedges, first, the splitting Wood they riv'd)
Then various Arts ensued. All things give way
To pressing Penury, and ceaseless Toll.
'Twas Ceres first taught Mortals with the Share
To cut the Ground; when now the sacred Grove
For human use no longer yielded Mast,
Nor Cherries; and Dodona Food deny'd.
Soon after, to the Corn new Labours rose:
That noxious Mildew's Rust should eat the Stalks;
And idle spiky Thistles croud the Fields.
The full Grain dies; a prickly Grove succeeds,
And Burrs, and Tares; and thro' the fertil Lands
Unlucky Darnel, and wild Oats prevail.
Unless then with assiduous Rakes thou work
The Ground, and chase the Birds with scaring Noise;
And with the crooked Pruner lop the Shades
Of spreading Trees, and pray to Heav'n for Show'rs;
Another's Store, in vain, alas! admir'd,

106

Thou shalt behold; and from a shaken Oak
Thy hungry Appetite in Woods relieve.

The Instruments by hardy Rusticks us'd
We next must tell; without whose Use no Seed
Can spring, nor Harvest ripen. First the Share,
And heavy Timber of the crooked Plough:
And Ceres' slowly-rolling Car; and Sleds;
And Flails; and Harrows of unwieldy Weight;
Osiers, and Hurdles; homely Implements
Of Celeus; and Iäechus' mystic Van.
All which with long Fore-Thought thou shalt provide;
If rural Glory, from the Art divine
Of Tillage, justly wait thee. In the Woods
The pliant Elm with mighty Strength is bent,
And takes the Figure of the winding Plough.
To it's Extremity the Beam is join'd,
Eight Feet in length: two Ears, and Dentails broad:
(But the light Linden first, and lofty Beech

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Are hewn to form the Yoke:) And the Plough-Tail,
By which, behind, the Wheels depress'd are turn'd
This Way, or that: And Smoke explores the Wood
In Chimneys hung. Of antient Rules like these,
Many I can recite; if you attend
Patient, and deign to learn these little Cares.
Chiefly, consolidate with binding Chalk
The Threshing-Floor; and knead it with your Hand,
And smooth it with the huge Cylindrick Stone:
Lest Grass spring up, lest vitiated with Dust,
It chap in Chinks: then various Vermin breed
Noxious to Farmers. Oft the tiny Mouse
Nests under Ground, and stores her Granaries:
Or eyeless delving Moles their Mansions dig:
And Toads in Cranies found: And num'rous Pests
Which Earth produces: The high Stacks of Corn
Are wasted by the Weevil; and the Ant
In time providing for the Wants of Age.

Observe too, when in Woods the Almond tall
Blossoms with Flow'rs, and bends its smelling Boughs:
If Fruit prevail, the same thy Crop will prove,
And mighty Store the Thresher's Sweat reward.

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But if by Leaves luxuriant Shade abound;
Thy Flail shall beat thin Chaff and Straw in vain.

Many I've known to medicate their Seed,
In Nitre steep'd, and the black Lees of Oil;
That in the Bean's fallacious Shell, the Grain
Might bigger grow: And tho' o'er mod'rate Fire
Moist, and precipitated, and with Pain
Long try'd and chosen, oft they have been prov'd
Degenerate, in Spight of so much Care;
Unless by human Industry and Art
The largest, one by one, have from the rest
Yearly been cull'd. So all things to the Worse
By Fate still backwards run: Like him who stems
The Tide adverse; if chance he slack his Arms,
Down the prone Stream his Sculler whirls away.

Besides; not less by Us must be observ'd
Arcturus' Stars, the rising Kids, and Snake
Celestial: than by Those who homewards bound
Sail the tempestuous Ocean, and the Straits
Of Oyster-breeding Hellespont explore.

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When Libra weighs the Hours of Day, and Sleep,
Equal, and parts the Globe 'twixt Light and Shade;
Then work your Steers, Ye Hinds, sow Barley's Grain,
'Till sleety Winter tow'rds it's Period tends.
Flax too, and Cerealian Poppey's Seed
'Tis time to hide in Furrows, and to urge
The Ploughman's Labour; while the drier Soil
Permits, and Clouds hang hov'ring in the Sky.
Sow Beans in Spring; then too the crumbling Glebe
Receives thee, Median Flow'r; and th'annual Toil
For Millet comes: when now with golden Horns
The shining Bull unlocks the op'ning Year;
And, setting, to the Ship the Dog gives Way.
But if for Wheat, and Bread-Corn's sturdy Sheaves
Thou till, industrious for That Crop alone;

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First let the Morning Pleiades forsake
Th'Horizon, and the Starry Gnossian Crown
From the Sun's Rays emerge; before the Seed
To Furrows thou commit, or trust the Earth
Unwilling with the Promise of the Year.

Many e'er Maia's Setting, have begun:
But them th'expected Harvest has deceiv'd.
If Vetches, and the hungry Pulse thou sow,
And think Ægyptian Lentils worth thy Care;
Signs not obscure Böotes sinking gives:
Begin, and to the middle Frosts proceed.
For Purposes like these, the golden Sun
Thro' twice six Constellations rules the World,
Sever'd by equal Parts. Five Zones divide
The Heav'ns; Of which One red with Solar Fire
For ever burns; Two (one on either Hand,

111

And in the Globe's Extreme) round this are drawn,
Stiff with green Ice, and black with low'ring Clouds:
'Twixt These, and That which fills the middle Space,
Two by th'Indulgence of the Gods were giv'n
To weary Mortals; and between them Both
A Way describ'd, thro' which in Course oblique
The glittering Order of the Signs might roll.
As tow'rds bleak Scythia, and Riphæan Hills,
The Globe is elevated; just so much
Depress'd to Libya, South, it downward tends.
This Pole to Us is still sublime; but That
Black Styx, and the Tartarean Manes see
Beneath their Feet. Here huge with sinuous Fold
The Snake twines round, and like a River flows
'Twixt the two Bears; the Bears that dread to tinge
Themselves in Ocean. There, as 'tis believ'd,
Eternal Dead of Night in Silence reigns;
Or to That Clime from Us Aurora's Car
Brings back returning Day; and when the Sun
On Us breaths, Orient, with his panting Steeds,
There Vesper reddens late, and lights the Stars.
From hence in doubtful Air we may foretel
The Weather; hence the Times to reap, and sow:

112

And when 'tis fit to sweep the faithless Sea
With Oars; and when to launch our armed Fleets;
Or when in Woods to fell the season'd Pine.

Nor is it vain that we with Care observe
The Stars, the rising and the setting Signs,
And by four Seasons the distinguish'd Year.
When the cold Rain confines the Farmer Home;
At Leisure various Things he may provide,
Which should be hasten'd, were the Sky serene.
He sharpens his blunt Share; scoops Boats from Trees;
Or marks his Cattle, or his Sacks of Corn.
Some point their Stakes, and double-spiky Prongs;
And Osiers twist to bind the flexile Vine:
Now Wicker-Baskets with light Rods they weave:
Now parch Your Grain, now grind it in the Mill.

Some Labours ev'n on sacred Days the Laws
Indulge us: No Religion e'er forbade

113

To drain the Fields; to hedge the Corn around;
Brambles to burn; or Snares to lay for Birds;
Or plunge the bleating Flocks in healthful Streams.
Oft too the Driver of the sluggish Ass,
With Oil, or viler Apples loads his Ribs;
Or, from the Town returning, with him brings
A dented Milstone, or a Mass of Pitch.

The Moon herself has certain Days ordain'd
Happy of Toils, in certain Order rang'd.
Avoid the Fifth: Then gloomy Dis was born,
And all the Furies: then the Parent Earth,
Teeming with Monsters, to the Light disclos'd
Cœus, Iäpetus, Typhœus dire,
Those rebel Brothers leagu'd to rend the Sky.
Thrice they assay'd on Peliön to heave
Ossa: on Ossa still more high to roll
Woody Olympus: thrice the Sire of Gods
Lanc'd the red Bolt, and hurl'd the Mountains down.
Next to the Tenth the Seventh is happy prov'd,
To plant the Vine; to break the new-yok'd Steers;
And add the Woof to Looms. The Ninth to Flight
Is found propitious, but adverse to Theft.

In humid Night Things not a few succeed
More prosp'rous; Or when Morn bedews the Ground,

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With the first rising Sun. Stubble by Night,
And the dry Meadow's Grass is better mow'd:
Moisture by Night is never known to fail.
One watches late by Light of Winter Fires;
And with the sharpen'd Steel for Torches splits
The spiky Wood: Meanwhile his Spouse with Songs
Relieves her tedious Toil, and thro' the Web
Along the Loom her whistling Shuttle whirls;
Or of sweet Must boils down the luscious Juice;
And skims with Leaves the trembling Cauldron's Flood.
But the strong yellow Corn in Mid-Day's Heat
Is reap'd; in Mid-Day's Heat the Threshing-Floor
Groans with the Flail, that beats the roasted Grain.
Plough naked; naked sow; The lazy Hinds
With the Earth in Winter rest: That Time they pass
In mutual Feasting, and enjoy their Store:
The genial Season to those Feasts invites
The jolly Farmers, and dispels their Cares.
As when the laden Vessels touch the Port;
The jovial Crew with Garlands crown their Sterns.

115

Yet then too is the Time to strip the Oil
From Olives; Mast from Oaks; from Myrtle and Bay
The bloody-colour'd Berries: then to set
Springes for Cranes, and Toyls for Stags; to hunt
The Hare; and from the Balearian Sling
With twisted Thong whirl'd round to shoot the Doe.
While Snow lies deep; while heavy Cakes of Ice,
Push'd by the Tide, down the dull Rivers float.

Autumnal Tempests, and uncertain Stars,
Why should I tell? And what by Hinds with Care
Must be provided; when the Day contracts,
And Summer softens? Or when show'ry Spring
Hastes to it's Period; when the trembling Ears
Wave with the Wind; and now the growing Grain
On the green Stalk with milky Moisture swells?
Oft have I seen, when now the Farmer brought

116

The Reaper to his yellow Fields, and bound
His Sheaves with brittle Straw, the warring Winds
All rise at once, and from the Roots uprend
His full-ear'd Corn, and whirl it high in Air.
With such a Gust a Hurricane would drive
Light, flying Stubble. Oft too Floods immense
Of Waters gush from Heav'n; and gather'd Clouds
Brew the black Storm aloft, with dusky Show'rs:
The rushing Sky descends, and with vast Rain
Drowns the rich Crop, and Labours of the Plough.
The hollow Dykes are fill'd: With roaring Noise
The foaming Rivers swell; and in the Friths
Toss'd by the Wind the wintry Ocean boils.
Great Jove himself, amidst the Night of Clouds,
Hurls with his red Right-hand the forky Fire:
Earth trembles; savage Beasts to Coverts fly;
And Mortals' Hearts o'er all the World with Dread

117

Sink shudd'ring, and appall'd. He with his Bolts
Or Thracian Rhodope, or Athos strikes,
Or high Ceraunia: With redoubled Force
The Winds condense the Tempest: Woods roar loud
With struggling Blasts; and Rivers lash their Shores.

Thou fearing This, observe the Months, and Stars;
Whither cold Saturn's Planet wheels it's Course;
And thro' what Orbs of Heav'n Cyllenius roves.
Chiefly adore, and supplicate the Gods;
And annual Off'rings to great Ceres bring,
On the green Turf performing sacred Rites;
When Winter ends, and Spring now smiles serene.
Then Lambs are fat; and Wines most soft; Then Sleep
Most sweet; Then leafy Trees the Mountains shade.
Ceres let all thy Rustick Youth adore;
For Her do Thou with Honey mingle Milk,
And gentle Wine: And round the recent Grain
Let the propitious Victim thrice be led:
Her in full Chorus let the Peasants all
Singing attend, and with loud Shouts invite
Ceres beneath their Roofs: Nor Any thrust
His Sickle to the Corn; 'till wreath'd with Oak
To Ceres he has paid the Honours due,
With uncouth Dances, and unpolish'd Verse.

That we by sure Prognosticks might foreknow

118

The Heats, the Rains, and Cold-producing Winds;
What by the Monthly Moon should be advis'd,
Great Jove himself ordain'd: Beneath what Star
Auster's rough Blasts should fall; and what the Swains
Observing, should near Home their Flocks confine.

When Winds are rising, strait the tossing Sea
Begins to swell; Or a dry crashing Noise
Is in the Mountains heard; Or more confus'd
The distant Shores, and murm'ring Woods resound.
With difficulty Then the Billows spare

119

The crooked Ships; when flying nearer Land
The swift-wing'd Cormorants forsake the Deep,
And send their Screams before them to the Beach.
And when the Sea-Gulls sport upon the Sand;
And when, deserting her accustom'd Ponds,
The tow'ring Hern soars high above the Clouds.
Oft too, when Wind impends, you shall behold
Stars glide from Heav'n; long Streaks of Fire, behind,
Stream thro nocturnal Shades; Light Chaff, and Leaves
Fall'n from the Trees, in Eddies whirl around;
Or Feathers on the Water's Surface play.

But from the Quarter of the boist'rous North
When Lightnings flash; and from the East and West
The grumbling Thunder rolls: Then all with Rain
The Country swims; and Floods in Ditches swell:
Then ev'ry Mariner, sea-faring, furls
His humid Sails: None e'er have aught, unwarn'd,
Suffer'd from Show'rs. Or them aëreal Cranes
Fled, rising from the Vales: Or, tossing high
Her Head in Air, the Heifer snuff'd the Storm
In her broad Nostrils: Or with flutt'ring Wings
The prattling Swallow skim'd the liquid Lakes:
Or Frogs in Mud their antient Plaints renew'd.

120

Oft from her secret Cell the painful Ant,
Marking a narrow Path, brings forth her Eggs:
The show'ry Bow drinks deep: And Flocks of Crows
With mingled Clang their clatt'ring Pinions shake,
Return'd from Feeding. Now the various Birds,
Which haunt the Sea, and Those which range around
Asia's soft Meads, and lov'd Cäyster's Lakes,
You shall behold in emulation toss
Large Water on their Wings, now plunge their Heads
Beneath the Waves, now run into the Stream,
And, sporting, strive to wash their Plumes in vain.
Th'unlucky Raven with full Throat invites
The Rain; and in her solitary Walk
Alone expatiates on the harden'd Sand.
Nor do the Damsels, who industrious ply
Their nightly Spinning, not foreknow These Storms:
When in their Potsherd-Lamp they see the Oil
Sputter in Sparks, and fungous Clots adhere.

Nor less Serenity succeeding Show'rs,
And sunny Skies, by sure unfailing Signs
Thou may'st foretel. For then with keener Edge
The Stars shine brillant: Rises bright the Moon,

121

As nought indebted to her Brother's Beams.
No thin light Clouds, like Flakes of fleecy Wool,
Fly thro' the Air: Nor to the tepid Sun
Do Halycons, lov'd by Thetis, stretch their Wings
Along the Shore: Nor sordid Swine delight
With their foul Snouts to toss the bundled Straw.
But lower, near to Earth the Mists descend,
Incumbent on the Fields: And now the Bird
Of Night, observant of the setting Sun,
Sings her late Song from some high Tow'r in vain.
Nisus appears sublime in liquid Air;
And Scylla rues the ravish'd purple Hair.
Where-e'er She flying cuts the yielding Sky,
Lo! fierce, revengeful, with a mighty Noise
Nisus pursues; where-e'er fierce Nisus wheels,

122

She swiftly flying cuts the yielding Sky.
With Thoughts compress'd the Crows their clearer Notes
Thrice, and four times repeat; and, in their Nests
High tow'ring, with I know not what Delight
Unusual fill'd, their mutual Joy express,
And caw among the Leaves: The Storms now past,
To their lov'd Homes with pleasure they return,
Shake their glad Wings, and feed their callow Young.
Not that I think an Ingeny Divine
To them is giv'n, or Prescience of Events
In Fate superior: But when changeful Winds
Alter the various Temper of the Sky;
And the moist Æther what before was dense

123

Relaxes, and condenses what was rare:
The shifting Phantasms of their Minds are turn'd;
And now within their Breasts new Passions move,
Diff'rent from Those they felt, when driving Blasts
Dispers'd the Clouds: Hence That Concent of Birds
Chirping in Chorus; Hence the Joy of Beasts;
And Flocks of Crows exulting in the Fields.

But if the rapid Sun thou shalt regard,
And the just Order of succeeding Moons:
Thou ne'er shalt by To-morrow be deceiv'd,
Nor aught from faithless Starry Nights endure.
If, when the Moon collects returning Light,
Her blunted Horns include a dusky Air;
Then mighty Rain impends o'er Land and Sea.
But if a Virgin Blush be o'er her Face
Diffus'd; 'Twill then be Wind: With Blasts of Wind
Still golden Phœbe reddens. But if bright
At her Fourth Rising (for the Fourth predicts
Most certainly) and with sharpen'd Horns she wheel
Along the Sky; Then all That Day, and Those
Succeeding, 'till the Month completed ends,
Nor Rain, nor Winds shall know: And on the Shore
The Mariners shall for their Safety pay
Their Vows to Melicertes, Ino-born,
And Panope, and Glaucus, Ocean-Gods.

Nor less the Sun, when rising in the East,
And when descending to the Western Waves,

124

Will Tokens give; The Sun sure Signs attend,
Both in the op'ning Morn, and Starry Eve.
When, rising in a Cloud, his Face with Spots
He varies, and with half his Orb retires;
Be Show'rs suspected: Notus from above
Threatens, to Trees, and Flocks, and Corn adverse.
Or when among dark Mists, at Dawn of Day,
The breaking Rays stream diverse; or with faint
Pale Aspect, from Tithonus' Saffron Bed
Aurora rises; then alas! the Leaves
Shall ill defend the rip'ning Grapes: so thick
Dire Hail shall dance, and rattle on the Tiles.
These Tokens too, when now he leaves the Sky,
'Twill more import to learn: For oft we see
How various Colours wander o'er his Face;
The livid, Rain foretels; The fiery, Winds:
But with the glowing Red if Spots begin
To mingle; all things then with Winds and Rain
Confus'd thou shalt behold: Ah! then let None
Persuade me ill-advis'd to tempt the Deep,

125

And loose my Cable from the safer Shore.
But if at both the Dawn, and Close of Day,
His Globe be lucid; Vain shall prove thy Fears
Of Tempests; and the Woods thou shalt behold
With the clear Northern Blasts serenely wave.

In fine; What Vesper's Ev'ning Planet brings,
From whence the Wind dispels the drier Clouds,
What humid Auster meditates, the Sun
Will best advise. The Sun who dares pronounce
Erroneous? He too oft foretels the Storms
Of Tumults, Treasons, and approaching Wars.

He too, at Cæsar's Murder, pitying Rome,
With dusky Scurf obscur'd his beamy Head;
And impious Mortals fear'd eternal Night.
Tho' at that Time Earth too, and spacious Seas,

126

And Dogs obscene, and ill-presaging Birds
Gave dire Portents. How oft have we beheld
Loud thund'ring Ætna from Volcanos burst,
Deluge with liquid Fire Cyclopean Fields,
And toss huge Balls of Flame, and molten Stones?
O'er all the Sky Germania heard the Clank
Of Arms: Unusual Shudd'rings rock'd the Alps:
And oft in silent Woods were Voices more
Than human heard: And Spectres wond'rous pale
Seen in the Dusk of Ev'ning: Oxen spoke,
(Horrid to tell!) Earth yawn'd, and Streams stood still:
In Temples mourning Iv'ry wept; and Brass
Sweated: Eridanus, Supreme of Rivers,
With roaring Inundation, o'er the Plains,
Swept Woods away, and Cattle, with their Stalls.
Nor did, mean-while, th'ill-boding Fibres cease
To menace Fate; nor Blood to rise in Wells;
Nor Cities loudly to resound with Wolves
Howling by Night. Ne'er from unclouded Sky
Did Lightnings with more nimble Flashes glare;
Nor e'er so thick did baleful Comets blaze.

127

For This, Philippi saw the Roman Troops
Twice in like Arms engage; and Heav'n thought fit
That twice Emathia, and th'extended Fields
Of Hæmus, should be fatten'd with our Blood.
Nay, and the Time shall come; when in Those Coasts
The lab'ring Peasant, with the crooked Share
Turning the Glebe, shall plough up Jav'lings furr'd
With eating Rust; and with the pond'rous Rakes
Clash against empty Helmets; and admire
Big, manly Bones, digg'd from their open'd Graves.

Ye Tutelary Gods, Thou Romulus,
And Parent Vesta, whose Indulgence guards
Etrurian Tyber, and the Roman Tow'rs;
Permit at least This wondrous Youth to prop
The reeling Globe: Long since our Blood has paid
Due Forfeit for the Perjuries of Troy.

128

Long since, O Cæsar, the Celestial Court
Has envy'd Us Thy Presence; and repines
Thou shouldst on mortal Triumphs be employ'd.
Where Right and Wrong are blended; O'er the World
So many Wars, such various Forms of Vice:
Tillage has lost it's due Regard; The Hinds
Press'd into Soldiers, Fields lie waste, and wild;
And crooked Scythes are hammer'd into Swords.
Euphrates here, There Germany makes War:
The neighb'ring Cities break their Leagues, and rush
To Arms: Mars impious storms o'er all the World.
As when the Racers from their Barriers start,
Oft whirling round the Goal; The Charioteer
Vainly attempts to check the flying Steeds:
Himself is born away: The dusty Car
Swift smokes along; nor, bounding, hears the Rein.

The End of the First Book.

129

BOOK the Second.

131

Thus far of Tillage, and the heavenly Signs:
Thee, Bacchus, now I sing; nor less with Thee
The late-grown Olive's Plant, and Woodland Trees.
Hither, Lenæus, Father, (With thy Gifts
All here abounds: For Thee the Field full charg'd
With viny Autumn flourishes: For Thee
In red o'er-flowing Vats the Vintage foams:)

132

Hither, Lenæus, Father, come; and tinge
Thy Legs, unbuskin'd, in new Must, with Me.

First, Trees by various Propagation grow:
(So Nature has ordain'd:) For some unforc'd
By human Industry, spontaneous rise,
In Fields abroad, and shade the winding Streams:
As the soft Sallow; and the flexile Broom;
The Poplar; and grey Willow. Some from Seed:
The lofty Chesnut; and Jove's spreading Æsculus,
Supreme of Woods; and Oaks, by Greece esteem'd
Oracular. A num'rous leafy Race
Springs from the Roots of others: As the Elm,
And Cherry; Thus too sprouts the infant Bay
(Parnassus-born, and by the Muses lov'd,)
Beneath it's Parent's more diffusive Shade.
These Means by Nature were at first ordain'd:
By these Productions ev'ry Species blooms
Of Trees, and Shrubs, and Woods, and sacred Groves.
Others there are, which long Experience taught,
And Art improv'd. One has in Trenches set

133

The Layers, from their Mother's tender Trunk
Slip'd off: A Second buries Roots in Mold,
And Stocks, and Stakes, cut sharp, or split in four.
Some Twigs depress'd, and into Arches bent,
Expect Increase, and living Tendrils, shot
From their own Bed. Others no Root require;
Nor fears the Gard'ner in the Ground to plant
A Scion ravish'd from its top-most Boughs.
Nay (wond'rous to relate!) the sapless Wood
Of Olive, stript, and of its Branches shorn,
Emits new Fibres, and shoots deep in Earth.
Oft too we see one Tree's ingrafted Sprays
Change to another's, nor repent That Change:
The Pear's hard Trunk with alien Apples bend;
And on the Plumb's the stony Cornel glow.

134

Then mark me well, Ye Farmers, learn of Each
The proper Culture; and with due Manure
Soften the Wildness of your barb'rous Fruits.
Let not your Land lie restive: What Delight
On Ismarus to plant the Bacchian Vine,
And cloath with Olives huge Taburnus' Sides!
And Thou, my Glory, justly of my Fame
The greatest Part, be present to my Aid,
Mecænas; Thou This Enterprize with Me
Pursue; and, flying on the open Main,
Unfurl the Sails. Not all could I propose
To comprehend within my scanty Song;
Had I an hundred Tongues, an hundred Mouths,
An iron Voice: Be present yet, and coast
Near the first Shore; The Land is in our View:
No Tales superfluous shall detain thee here,
Nor long Preambles, nor fictitious Verse.

Those, which unbidden spring to upper Air,
Steril indeed, but strong, and healthy rise;

135

Because by Nature favour'd. Yet ev'n These,
If grafted, or, in Trenches well prepar'd,
Chang'd and transplanted, will in time unlearn
Their salvage Temper; and not slow obey,
With frequent Culture, what Your Art commands.
The same will Those perform, which barren sprout
From the low Roots; if o'er the open Fields
They be dispos'd: Their Mothers' shady Tops
Now check them, and forbid their Fruits to grow.
The Tree which springs from Seed by slow Degrees
Advances, and to late Posterity
Adjourns it's Shade: It's Fruit degen'rous proves,
Losing its native Juices; and the Vine
Bears worthless Clusters, Food for Birds alone.
Thus must they all be labour'd, all confin'd
To Trenches, and with much Expence subdued.
From Trunks the Olive, from the Arch the Vine
More happy answers; From the solid Stock
The Paphian Myrtle; From the Layer's Slip

136

The hardy Hazle springs; and the tall Ashe;
The shady Tree which binds Alcides' Brows;
Jove's Dodonæan Oak; The lofty Palm;
And Pine for future Storms at Sea reserv'd.
But with a Filberd's Twig the prickly Arbutus
Is grafted: Oft the barren Plane has born
The ruddiest Apples; Chesnuts bloom'd on Beech;
The Wild-Ashe blossom'd with the Flow'rs of Pears
Snow-white; and Swine crack'd Acorns under Elms.
Nor single is the Manner to ingraft,
Or to inoculate. For where the Gems
Bud from the middle Bark, and gently burst
The filmy Coats; ev'n in the Knot is made
A small Incision: From an alien Tree
An Eye is here inclos'd; and taught to grow
Congenial, blending with the humid Rind.
Or else into the knotless solid Trunk
They force a Cleft with Wedges; then insert
The fertil Sprigs: Nor long the Time; to Heav'n
The Tree with loaden Branches shoots away,
Admires new Leaves, and Apples not her own.

Besides; Not single is the Species found
Of the strong Elm, the Willow, and the Lote;
Nor of th'Idæan Cypress: Nor is one

137

The Form in which the fruitful Olive springs;
The Orchite, Radius, and the Pausia known
By bitter Berrys. Nor the Shoots the same
Of Apples, and Alcinous' Groves, and Pears;
Diff'rent the Syrian, and Crustumian grows,
And Warden of distinguish'd Weight and Size.
Nor on our Trees does the same Vintage hang,
Which Lesbos crops from Methymnæan Vines.
Thasians there are, and Mareotics white,
These fit for richer Mold, for lighter Those;
And Psythian, best when dry'd; and thin Lageos,
Potent to try the Feet, and bind the Tongue;
The purple, and the early-ripen'd Grape;
And with what Verse, Thee, Rhætic, shall I sing?
Nor yet contend thou with Falernian Cells.

138

Th'Ammineans too, most during Wines; to which
Ev'n Tmolus, and ev'n King Phanæus bows;
And the less Argite, None with which can vie,
Either to flow so much, or last so long.
Nor, Rhodian, Thee in silence would I pass,
Still grateful to the second Cheer, and Gods;
Nor Thee, Bumastus, with plump swelling Grapes.
But of the various Species, and their Names,
No Number is; nor profits it to know
Their Number: Which whoe'er would learn, as well
May seek to learn how many are the Sands,
Which Zephyr tosses in the Libyan Sea;

139

Or, when, more violent, Eurus beats the Ships,
How many Waves roll to th'Ionian Shore.

Nor can all Soils bear all Things; Willows grow
Near Rivers; Alders, in the marshy Lakes;
Barren Wild-Ashes, on the rocky Hills;
The Shores rejoice in Myrtles; Bacchus loves
The open Mountains; Eughs, the North, and Cold.
See the most distant Regions, by the Pow'r
Of Roman Arms subdu'd; Th'Arabians East,
And painted Scythians: By it's proper Trees
Each Country is distinguish'd. India sole
Bears Ebony; Sabæa, Incense sweet.
Why should I name the Balms, which fragrant Wood
Sweating distils? Th'Acanthus ever-green,
And flourishing with Berries? Why the Groves
Of Æthiopia, white with downy Wool?
And how the Seres comb from silken Leaves
Soft Fleeces? Why Those Lawns should I rehearse,
Which India, nearer to the Sea, a Tract
Ev'n in th'extremest Limits of the Globe,
Produces? Where the highest Air of Trees

140

No Flight of Arrows ever could surmount:
Yet no ill Archers does That Nation boast.
Media the happy Citron bears, of Juice
Pungent, of Taste that dwells upon the Tongue;
Than This no Aid more present (when, in Rage
Of Jealousy, Stepdames have Draughts infus'd,
And mingled Herbs, and not innoxious Charms)
T'expel black Poysons from infected Limbs.
Huge, tall, It self; and like a Laurel, shap'd;
And, did it not a diff'rent Scent diffuse,
A Laurel it would be: No Winds it's Leaves
Unfix; It's Blossoms most tenacious grow:
The Medes with This foment their Mouths, correct
Their smelling Breath, and wheezing Sires relieve.

But neither wealthy Media's Groves, and Soil,
Nor far-fam'd Ganges, nor rich Hermus' Stream,
Turbid with Gold, can match Italia's Praise:
Nor Bactra, India, nor Panchaia fat.

141

All o'er, with Frankincense-producing Glebe.
No Furrows here by Bulls expiring Flame
Are turn'd; Nor Teeth of monstrous Dragons sown:
Nor rises a dire Crop of Soldiers, throng'd,
With Shields, and rigid Spears. But swelling Grain
Abounds, and Bacchus' Massic Juice, and Oils,
And Herds of shining Neat. The Warriour Steed
Prances, with lofty Port, into the Field;
White Flocks, and stately Bulls, of Victims chief,
Oft plung'd, Clitumnus, in Thy sacred Stream,
To Jove's high Fane the Roman Triumphs lead.
Here blooms perpetual Spring; and Summer shines
In Months not Hers: Here twice the Cattle teem,
The Trees twice yield their Fruit. But far from hence
Is the fell Tyger, and the savage Breed
Of Lions; Nor does Aconite deceive
The wretched Simplers. No huge scaly Snake
Snatches his Orbs immense along the Ground;
Nor into Spires so vast himself convolves.
Add That Variety of Cities fam'd;
And Labour of Artificers; on Tops
Of craggy Rocks so many Towns uprear'd;
And Rivers gliding under antient Walls.

142

The Sea, which washes it on either side,
Shall I rehearse? Or such extended Lakes,
Thee, Larius greatest? or, Benacus, Thee,
Whose Waves, like Ocean's, swell, and roar with Storms?
Or it's large Ports; and to the Lucrine Bay
A Mole now added; and the Sea with Rage
Indignant roaring; where the Julian Tide,
Impatient of Confinement, bellows loud,
(The Sea driv'n back) and into Avernus' Frith
The Tyrrhene Chanel pours it's rushing Waves?
The same blest Region Veins of Silver shows,
Rivers of Brass; and flows in copious Gold.
The same a hardy Race of Heroes bore,
The Marsians, Samnites, and Ligurians train'd
To Labour, and the Volscians arm'd with Piles,
The Decii, Marii, and the great Camilli,
The Scipio's brave in Fight, and Thee most fam'd,
Illustrious Cæsar; who, on Asia's Coasts
Remote, Victorious, do'st ev'n Now avert
Th'unwarlike Indian from the Roman Tow'rs.
Hail, happy Clime! Saturnian Realm! of Fruits,

143

And Men, great Parent! I for Thee attempt
This Argument of antient Art, and Fame,
Advent'rous to unlock the sacred Springs;
And chant, thro' Latian Towns, Ascræan Verse.

The Genius of each Soil, it's Colour, Strength,
What Product Nature has to Each assign'd,
'Tis Now the Time to tell. First the rough Glebe,
And Hills less tractable, where thinner Clay
Abounds, and Pebbles in a thorny Field,
Rejoice in long-liv'd Olives, Pallas' Grove.
This the Wild-Olives shew, when thick they rise
On the same Mold, and with their meagre Fruit
Bestrew the Ground. But Earth more sweet, and rich
With fertil Ooze, and all with Grass o'ergrown,
Such as we oft observe in hollow Vales,
Whither the Streams from lofty Mountains run,
And draw the fatt'ning Slime; and That which lies
Obnoxious to the South, and That which breeds
Rank Fern, detested by the crooked Plough,
Will bear Thee strongest Vines, and most profuse
Of Bacchus; This is fruitful of the Grape,
And of That Liquor, which from golden Bowls

144

We, for Libation, at the Altars, pour;
When the fat Tuscan sounds his Iv'ry Tube,
And in curve Chargers to the Gods we offer
The smoking Entrails. But if Herds of Kine,
Or Sheep, or Goats which kill the tender Trees,
Thou study to preserve; The Thickets seek,
And rich Tarentum's distant well-fed Soil;
Or such a Field as hapless Mantua lost,
Feeding white Swans in Mincius' grassy Stream.
Nor limpid Springs, nor Pastures to the Flocks
Are There deficient; And how much the Herds
Crop in long Summer-Days, so much the Dew,
Refreshing, in the short cool Night restores.
The blackish Mold, and That which fat sinks deep
Beneath the Coulter, and the crumbling Earth
(For so we strive to make it, when we plough)
Is best for Bread-Corn: From no other Field
You'll see more Waynes move home with slow-pac'd Steers.
And That, from which it's angry Lord transports
A Wood, and Groves o'erturns, for many Years,

145

Unprofitable; and the ancient Haunts
Of Birds, ev'n with their deepest Roots uprends:
Leaving their Nests, They fly into the Clouds;
The rude, tough Glebe grows rich beneath the Share.
For of the sloping Hills the hungry Gritt,
And Gravel, and the Chalk by poys'nous Snakes
Corroded, scarce to Bees will Flow'rs supply,
Sweet Casia, and the Rosemary's sweet Dew:
No other Soil, 'tis said, such grateful Food
To Serpents, or such winding Coverts yields.
That which exhales thin Mists, and flying Smoke,
At pleasure drinks the Moisture, or emits,
Still cloaths it self with it's own verdant Grass,
Nor hurts the Coulter with salt Rust, or Scurf;
That Ground with clustring Vines will wreath thy Elms:
That yields thee copious Oil; In thy Manure,
That Ground Thou wilt experience for the Herds
Most apt; and patient of the crooked Share.
Such, wealthy Capua ploughs; and Such, the Coast
Near to Vesuvius' Mount; and Clanius, nought
Indulgent to Acerræ's empty Walls.

146

Next; how thou may'st distinguish ev'ry Soil,
Attend. If whether it be Rare, or Dense,
Thou seek to know; (Since One is best for Corn,
For Wine the Other; Dense, for Ceres; Rare,
For Bacchus:) First a proper Place select;
Sink a deep Pit; then to it's Bed restore
The Mold, tread close, and smooth the level Sand.
If That deficient prove; The Soil is Thin,
For Vines, and Pasture fit. But if the Trench
Be fill'd, and more, superfluous, still remain;
'Tis a Thick Glebe; Obstructing Clods expect,
And toughest Ridges: With thy sturdy Steers
Invert them, and cut deep the stubborn Marle.
But the Salt Land, the Bitter (as 'tis call'd)
Favours not Corn; It mellows not by Arts
Of Tillage; nor of Apples, and of Grapes,
The diff'rent Species, or the Names, preserves.
'Tis Thus discover'd. From the smoky Roof
Take Wicker-Baskets, of tough Sallows made,
And Strainers, which receive the running Must;
Here let That vicious Earth, with Water drawn
From the fresh Spring, be press'd, and trodden close:
The Water all, forc'd outwards, will distil;
And big round Drops betwixt the Osiers ooze.
A sure Discov'ry the salt Relish makes,
And writhes th'offended Mouths of Them who taste.
The Fat, and Viscid Mold, we Hence discern:
Handled, it never crumbles into Dust;

147

But, sticky, to the Fingers cleaves like Pitch.
The Moist bears Weeds, and ranker Grass, it self
Beyond due measure rank: Ah! let not Mine
Too fertil prove, nor shew it self too strong
In the first Blade. The Heavy, and the Light,
(Nor need we other Marks) themselves betray
By their own Weight. 'Tis obvious to perceive,
By Sight, the Black, and ev'ry other Hue.
But to discover the pernicious Cold,
Is difficult: Yet sometimes ev'n of This
The Pine, black Ivy, and the nocent Eugh
Advise us, and undoubted Signs disclose.

These things observ'd; remember, long before
You plant the Offspring of your happy Vines,
By due Manure to dry, and trench your Glebe;
And to the North the Clods supine expose.
The crumbling Soil is best; The Winds, and Frosts

148

Will make it such, and the strong Delver's Care
Industrious oft to turn the mould'ring Earth.
But Those, whom Nought of Vigilance escapes,
Of the same Genius chuse two diff'rent Soils;
For the first Nurs'ry, This; That, to receive
The Slips transplanted: Lest they should disown
The sudden Change of Parents. Ev'n their Site
Is on the Bark inscrib'd; That, as they stood,
On the same side as Each receiv'd the Heat
Of Southern Air, or to the Northern Pole
Obvious was scituate, Each may be replac'd:
Such is the Force of Custom, in green Years
Contracted. Whether on the Hills, or Plain,
'Tis best to set your Tendrils, first enquire.

149

If a fat Field you chuse, plant Thick your Vines;
Bacchus no less in a thick planted Field
Will prove prolific. If a sloping Soil,
Rising in Hillocks; Let your Ranks be Thin:
Nor let Your Care be less, that 'twixt Those Ranks
Each vacant Interval, in Paths across,
Squaring, exactly answer. As in War,
The long extended Legion forms in Lines
It's Cohorts; when the marshal'd Squadrons stand
In the wide Plain; and, the whole Army rang'd,
The Ground all fluctuates with the brazen Gleam;
Nor yet in horrid Shock the Battle joins,
But Mars, uncertain, hovers o'er the Field:
By such due Distances let all your Paths

150

Be measur'd just: Not only that the Rows
May with an empty Prospect please the Sight;
But for This too, because the Earth to All
Will, otherwise, not equal Strength supply,
Nor can the Branches shoot in open Air.

Perhaps, how deep 'tis fit to trench the Mold,
You will demand. The Vine I should not fear
Ev'n to a shallower Furrow to commit:
A Tree more strong is lower sunk in Earth;
Chiefly the Æsculus; which, as it high
Uprears it's Head to Heav'n, so deep in Root
Shoots downwards to the Centre: Nor by Storms,
Nor Hurricanes, nor wintry Blasts uptorn,
Unmov'd it stands; and, many rolling Years,
Of our frail Species many an Age survives:
Then stretching wide it's Boughs, and sturdy Limbs,
It self inclos'd a mighty Shade sustains.

Nor let your Vintage to the setting Sun
Be turn'd; nor Hazles mingle with your Vines;
Nor pluck your Scions from the topmost Boughs;

151

(So much the Love of Parent Earth prevails:)
Nor with a blunted Pruner wound your Shoots;
Nor in your Vineyards let Wild-Olives grow.
For oft by careless Swains neglected Fire
Is left; Which first beneath the unctuous Bark
Lurks unperceiv'd, invades the solid Wood,
And, rising thro' the higher Leaves, to Heav'n
With mighty Noise ascends; 'Then Victor reigns
Thro' the Top-Branches, and Triumphant rides,
Involving all the Grove in Flames; and throws
A Cloud of pitchy Vapour to the Sky:
Chiefly, if from the North a Tempest roars;
And driv'n by Winds the blazing Torrent rolls.
No Vines will, after This, from Roots arise;

152

Or sprout by Amputation; or revive
Alike in Species from the Deep of Earth:
Of nought productive, but of bitter Leaves,
The mischievous Wild-Olive sole remains.

Let None, however skill'd, on Thee prevail
To turn the rigid Earth, when Boreas breathes:
Then Winter shuts the Pores; nor with their Roots
Permits the Plants to pierce the frozen Mold.
'Tis best in purple Spring to lay your Vines;
When the white Bird appears, by winding Snakes
Detested: Or in Autumn's first cool Air;
E'er with his Steeds the rapid Sun has touch'd
The Winter-Tropick, yet the Summer ends.
But most indulgent to the Woods and Groves
Is the soft Spring; In Spring all Nature swells,
And genial Seed requires: With fruitful Show'rs
Th'Almighty Parent Æther then diffus'd,
Into his gladsom Consort's Lap descends;
Fresh Vigour to the various Species gives,
And mingles with her universal Mass.
Then with melodious Birds the pathless Brakes
Resound; and Herds their stated Loves renew:
The teeming Earth to Zephyr's tepid Breeze
Opens her Bosom; All the Fields abound

153

With kindly Moisture: To new Suns the Herbs
Dare trust themselves; Nor aught the tender Vine
From rising Auster fears, nor rushing Storms,
Which driv'n by Northern Winds descend from Heav'n;
But gems it's Buds, and all it's Leaves unfurls.
No other Days, I should believe, first shin'd
Upon the World, when recent Nature rose:
'Twas then the Spring; Spring smil'd o'er all the Globe,
And sharp East-Winds their wintry Blasts forbore:
When Cattle first saw Light; the Iron Race
Of Men from the hard Glebe up-rear'd it's Head;
And Beasts first rang'd the Woods, and Stars the Sky.
Nor could the frail Creation bear th'Extremes
Of Cold, and Heat; did not betwixt them Both

154

Such Pause at certain Seasons intervene,
And Heav'n's Indulgence bless the Fruits of Earth.

Next; Whate'er Slips you plant o'er all the Fields,
Remember with fat Dung, and copious Soil,
To cover them; Or throw in spungy Stones,
Or rugged Shells: For 'twixt them will the Rain
Dristing insinuate, and thin Vapours breathe;
And strong and healthy will your Tendrils rise.
There are, who with a Weight of Stones, or Brick

155

Close press them: This against immod'rate Show'rs
Is Fence sufficient; This, when Sirius cleaves
The Soil adust. Your Plants now set in Earth,
It rests to draw the Mold oft round their Roots,
And oft to wield the heavy two-fork'd Hough:
Or with the Share impress'd to work the Glebe,
And goad, ev'n 'twixt your Vines, the struggling Steers.
'Tis Then the Time to fit smooth knotless Canes,
And shaven spear-like Poles, and forky Ashe;
Prop'd by whose Strength they may defy the Winds,
And learn to creep in Ringlets round the Elms.

But when the Tree first sprouts with recent Buds;
Spare thou their tender Age: And when diffus'd
The Branches spread themselves in open Air,
With loosen'd Reins; as yet the Steel's sharp Edge
Must not be try'd: Thy unarm'd Hand apply;

156

And, 'twixt each other, crop, and cull the Leaves.
But when they clasp the Elms with stronger Wreaths;
Then prune their Branches, lop their Limbs, (Before,
They dread the Steel) a more severe Command
Then exercise, and check their flowing Boughs.
Let Hedges too be made, to fence thy Groves
From Cattle; Chiefly, when the Leaf is young,
And not inur'd to Suff'ring: Besides Storms,
And the Sun's Heat, the Bufalo's, and Goats,
And Sheep, and greedy Heifers, hurt thy Vines.
Nor does the Winter, stiff with hoary Frost,
Nor Summer, when it drys and burns the Rocks,
So noxious, as Those browzing Stragglers, prove:
Which, biting, wound the Bark; and in the Scar,
Of their hard Teeth the rankling Venom leave.

'Tis for no other Crime an horn'd He-Goat,
Sacred to Bacchus, on each Altar bleeds;
And ancient Interludes adorn the Scene:
And, all the Roads and Villages around,

157

Th'Athenians Prizes for Those Plays propos'd;
And jovial o'er their Bowls, in grassy Meads,
Danc'd upon Goat-skin Bottles sleek with Oil.
Nor less th'Ausonian Colony of Troy
Sport in rude Laughter, and unpolish'd Verse;
Of hollow Bark, uncouth rough Vizors wear;
Thee, Bacchus, Thee with joyous Songs invoke,
And hang Thy little Images aloft
On a tall Pine. Hence ev'ry Vineyard sprouts,
And swells with future Wine: The hollow Vales,
And shady Groves, to which soe'er the God
Turns his gay Face, with copious Fruit abound.
Therefore to Bacchus, in our Country's Verse,
We'll chant due Praise; and Cakes, and Chargers, bring:
And at his Altar kill the Victim Goat,
Dragg'd by the Horns; and roast his well-fed Flesh,
On Hazle Spits, before the sacred Fire.

For Vines another Toil thou must sustain,
Which ne'er can be exhausted; Ev'ry Year,
Thrice, and four times, thou must invert the Soil,

158

Break the tough Clods with never-ceasing Houghs,
And ease the Branches of luxuriant Leaves.
The Farmer's Labour, with the circling Year,
Turns on it's self, and in a Round revolves.

Now when the Tree it's Autumn-Leaves has shed,
And Boreas of it's Honours stripp'd the Groves;
Strait to the coming Year the Rustick bends
His Diligence; with Saturn's crooked Knife
Lops, and by careful Pruning forms, the Vine.
Be Thou the First to trench the Glebe, to burn
The Sprays cut off, to carry home the Poles;
The Last in Vintage. Twice to Vines the Shade
Is threat'ning; Weeds and Thorns twice choke the Grapes;
Great is the Toil both Mischiefs to remove:
Praise Thou large Farms; a small one chuse to till.

159

Nor less in Woods the prickly Shrubs, and Briers,
Are cut; and Reeds, which fast by Rivers grow;
And the wild Sallow-Twigs employ our Care.
And now the Vines are ty'd, nor longer ask
The Pruning-Hook; The weary Dresser Now
With Songs salutes his outmost Ranks complete:
Yet must we still sollicit the dull Mold;
And the ripe Grapes have still to fear from Jove.

Diff'rent the Olives: They no Culture need,
Nor the curve Pruning-Hook, nor Harrow's Teeth
Expect; when once they rooted stick in Earth,
And, season'd, bear th'Inclemency of Heav'n.
The Earth it self, when by the biting Share

160

Upturn'd, sufficient Moisture will supply;
And full Fruit, with the Labour of the Plough
Coeval: Nourish then That fertil Plant,
The Olive, grateful Pledge of pleasing Peace.
The Apple too, when first it feels it's Trunk
Robust, and in full Vigour stands confirm'd,
Shoots sudden to the Stars, nor asks our Aid.
Nor less mean-while with Fruit each loaden Grove
Abounds; Th'uncultivated Haunts of Birds
Glow with red Berries: Of it's Leaves we strip
The Cytisus: Tall Woods Materials give
For spiky Torches, and nocturnal Light.
And doubt we then on These t'employ the Care
Of Planting? Why the Greater should I name?
The Sallows, and the lowly Broom, afford
Or Browze to Cattle, or to Shepherds Shade,
Fences to Corn, and Honey-Food to Bees.
What Pleasure to behold Cytorus' Mount

161

Waving with Box! Narycium's Groves with Pines!
Fields to no Rakes, nor any human Toil
Indebted! Ev'n on Caucasus' bleak Top,
The steril Woods, by roaring Eastern-Winds
Still vex'd, and broken, various Products yield;
Yield useful Timber, Pines for Ships, for Houses
Cedar, and Cypress: Spokes, and Naves, for Wheels,
And crooked Keels for Vessels, hence are form'd:
Sallows for Twigs are profitable; Elms
For Leaves; For Spears the Myrtle, and in War
The Cornel fam'd: The Ityræan Eugh
Bends into Bows; Nor does the Linden smooth,
And easy-polish'd Box, not Shape receive;
But Both are hollow'd by the sharpen'd Steel.
Hence the light Alder swims the torrent Stream,
Launch'd on the Po: Nor less the Bees in Clefts

162

Of Bark, or in the Concave of an Oak,
Vicious with eating Age, conceal their Swarms.
What, of such Use, have Bacchus' Gifts to boast?
Bacchus of Guilt too has been found the Cause:
'Twas He by Death the raging Centaurs quell'd,
Rhætus, and Pholus, and Hylæus arm'd
Against the warlike Lapithæan Race,
And threatning with a massy Goblet's Weight.

O! more than fortunate, did they but know
Their Happiness, the Country-Village Swains!
For whom, at distance from discordant Arms,
The Earth, just Parent, pours forth easy Food.

163

What tho' with Them no Palace, rais'd to Heav'n,
From it's proud Portals vomits out a Tide
Of Morning-Visitants? Nor do they gape
For Luxury of Buildings; Pillars grac'd
With Spoils of Tortoises, in various Hue;
For broider'd Garments; and Corinthian Brass?
Tho' their white Wool imbibes no Syrian Teint;
Nor Cinnamon corrupts their Use of Oil?
Yet safe Repose, Sincerity of Life,
Riches of various Kinds, large Farms, and Ease,
Lowings of Herds, and Grots, and living Lakes,

164

Cool Vallies, and sweet Sleep beneath the Shades;
They want not. Lawns are there, and Haunts of Beasts;
Youth patient of Fatigue, and train'd to live
On Little; Rites Divine, and holy Sires:
When Justice left the World, she left Them last.
Me may the Muses, whose vow'd Priest I am,
Smit with strong Passion for their sacred Song,
Dear above all to Me, accept; and teach
The heav'nly Roads, the Motions of the Stars;
The Sun's Defects, the Labours of the Moon;
Whence Tremor to the Earth; by what Impulse
The Sea swells high, and ebbing back retires;
Why Suns in Winter haste so swift to tinge
Themselves in Ocean; and what Cause retards
The sluggish Nights. But if the colder Blood
About my Heart forbid me to approach
So near to Nature; may the rural Fields,

165

And Streams, which murm'ring glide along the Vales,
Delight me: Groves, and Rivers may I love,
Obscure, inglorious. O! where are the Plains,
Sperchius, and Taygeta, by the Dames
Of Sparta, swoln with Bacchanalian Rage
Frequented? O! in Hæmus' Vallies cool
Who places me, and covers me with Shade
Of thickest Trees, imbow'ring? Blest the Man!
Who could of Things the secret Causes trace;
And cast all Fears, and Fate's unmov'd Decree,
And roaring Acheron, beneath his Feet.
Blest too is He, who knows the rural Gods,
Pan, old Sylvanus, and the Sister Nymphs.
Him nor the Fasces of the State can move,
Nor Regal Purple; nor the Hate which reigns
'Twixt faithless Brothers; nor the Dacian Pow'rs,
Descending from the Danube leagu'd in Arms;
Nor Rome's Affairs, nor Kingdoms doom'd to fall:
The Poor his Pity moves not, nor the Rich
His Envy. Whate'er Fruits the Trees, and Fields,

166

Spontaneous, and without Compulsion give,
He gathers; nor e'er sees the iron Laws,
The publick Registers, or noisy Bar.
Some vex the Deep with Oars, and rush to Arms;
Sollicite Favour in the Courts of Kings:
One Spoils from wretched, ruin'd Cities seeks;
To quaff in Gems, and snore on Tyrian Dye:
This buries Wealth, and broods o'er hoarded Gold:
That doats with Fondness on the Rostrum's Fame;
Another on th'Applauses of the Cirque,
And Theatres; For doubled is th'Applause;
The People, and the Fathers both concur:
He, set agape, stands ravish'd at the Sound.
Some triumph, reeking in their Brothers' Blood;
And change for Exile their sweet Native Homes,
And seek a Soil warm'd by another Sun.

167

The Farmer with the crooked Plough upturns
The Glebe: From hence his annual Labour; Hence
His Children, and his Country He sustains,
His lowing Herds, and well-deserving Steers.
No Pause, but still with Fruit the Year abounds;
With Apples, or th'Increase of Ewes and Kine,
Or with full Sheaves of Cerealian Culm;
And loads the Furrows, and o'erpow'rs the Barns.
Winter comes on; The Presses bruise the Fruit
Of Sicyonian Olives: Fat with Mast
The Swine return: The Woods their Berries yield:
Autumn it's various Product too resigns:
And Summer on high Rocks the Vintage swells.
Mean-while their tender Parents' Kisses round
Hang the sweet Babes: The Family, all chaste,
Vertue and spotless Modesty preserves.
The Kine their Dugs with Milk distended bring;
And the fat sportive Kids in Pastures green

168

Frisk on the Turf, and push with butting Horns.
Himself the festal Days, religious, keeps;
And stretch'd upon the Grass, Thee, Bacchus, calls,
Pouring pure Wine to Thee; where in the Midst
A Fire burns bright, and the full Bowls are crown'd:
Proposes to the Herdsmen, and the Swains,
A Match, for Trial of their Skill, to dart
The flying Spear against a verdant Elm;
And for strong Wrestling bares their sturdy Limbs.
This Life of old the antient Sabines led;
This, Remus, and his Brother: Thus arose
Warlike Etruria: Educated Thus
Great Rome became the Mistress of the World,
And single with her Walls seven Hills inclos'd.
Before the Empire of the Cretian King;
E'er impious Nations fed on Oxen slain;
Thus Saturn flourish'd in an Age of Gold,
On Earth: Nor Mortals yet had heard th'Alarms
Of Trumpets, nor the sputt'ring of the Steel
On Anvils form'd, and hammer'd into Swords.
But We have finish'd our immense Carrier;
And now 'tis Time t'unrein the smoking Steeds.

The End of the Second Book.

169

BOOK the Third.

170

Thee too, great Pales, and Thee, heav'nly Swain
Fam'd from Amphrysus; You, ye shady Groves,
And Rivers of Lycæus, next we sing.
All other Themes of Verse, which could amuse
The vacant Mind, long since are worn with Age:
Busiris' Altars, and Eurystheus dire,

171

Who knows not? Who of Hylas has not sung,
Or of Latonian Delos? Or the fair
Hippodame? Or Pelops in the Race
Victorious, and his Iv'ry Shoulder's Fame?
A Way by Me too must be try'd, to raise
My self from Earth, and fill the Mouths of Men.
I first (let Life sufficient but be giv'n)
Returning from th'Aonian Mount, will lead
The Muses with me to my Native Soil:
I first will bring the Idumæan Palms,
Mantua, to Thee; and on the verdant Field
Of solid Marble found a sacred Dome;
Fast by the River, where great Mincius shades
His Banks with bending Reeds, and winding errs

172

In slow Meanders. Cæsar in the Midst
Shall stand, and all the Temple's Centre grace.
For Him, I Victor, and in Tyrian Robes
Conspicuous, near the gliding Stream will drive
An hundred Chariots by four Horses drawn:
Leaving Alpheüs, and Molorchus' Woods,
All Greece, my solemn Triumph to adorn,
Shall in the Race, and with the rigid Cest
Contend. With Foliage of shorn Olive wreath'd
About my Head, My self will Off'rings bring;
Ev'n now with Joy the solemn Pomp I see
Move to the Temple, and the Victims bleed;
See how the Scene with shifting Front retires;

173

And how th'inwoven Britons There support
The purple figur'd Tapestry they grace.
The Indian Battles on th'engraven Doors,
In Gold, and solid Elephant, shall shine;
And young Quirinus' conqu'ring Arms; The Nile
Foaming with War, and rolling sanguine Tides,
And Pillars rising high with naval Brass.
The vanquish'd Asian Cities shall to These
Be added; And Niphates' Mount subdued;
The Parthian trusting in his Flight, and Shafts
Shot backward; Trophies from two diff'rent Foes
Twice snatch'd, and Triumphs twice from either Shore.
In breathing Marble antient Kings shall stand;
Assaracus' Descendants; Mighty Names
Deriv'd from Jove; Tros, Ancestor of Rome;
And Phœbus, Author of the Trojan Race.

174

Envy, self-tortur'd, shall with Horrour dread
The Furies, and Cocytus' sable Stream,
Ixion's twisted Snakes, and racking Wheel,
And the rough Rock to endless Ages roll'd.
Let us, mean while, the Dryads' Groves unsung
Pursue; no easy Task by Thee enjoin'd,
Mecænas: Nought sublime, without Thy Aid,
My Muse attempts. Begin, break dull Delay:
Cithæron calls us, and Taygetus' Hounds,
And Epidaurus, skill'd in manag'd Steeds:
And Echoing Woods rebellow to the Noise.
Yet next, advent'rous, I prepare to sing
Great Cæsar's Wars; and to transmit his Fame
Descending thro' as long a Tract of Years,
As from Tithonus' Birth to Cæsar's Times.

Whether, ambitious of th'Olympick Palm,
Thou nourish sprightly Steeds; or lusty Steers,
Studious of Tillage: Be it first thy Care
To chuse the Female-Breeders. Best the Cow,
Of Aspect sour: Her Head unshap'd, and large,
Her hanging Neck enormous; From her Chin

175

Her swagging Dewlaps to her Knees depend.
Her Flank of Length unmeasur'd: All Parts huge;
Her Feet too; and beneath her crankled Horns
Her Ears uncouth, and rough. Nor shall Her Form
Be disapprov'd, whose Skin with Spots of White
Is vary'd: Or who struggles with the Yoke,
And sometimes pushes with her Horn, in Front
A Bull resembles, tall, and big all o'er,
And with her Tail, in Walking, sweeps the Ground.
Their Age for just Connubials fit, begins
After Four Years; before the Tenth, expires:
The rest unapt for Teeming, and of Strength
Unequal to the Plough. Mean-while, (thy Herds
Blooming in vig'rous Youth) let loose the Males,
Be Thou the first thy Cattle to indulge
In genial Love, and propagate the Race.
The Best of Life, which wretched Mortals share,
First flies away: Diseases, sick Old Age,

176

And Pain, and Death's Inclemency, succeed.
Still there will be, whose Kind thou wouldst desire
To vary: Still repair the Breed; nor stay,
'Till thou too late the lost Occasion mourn;
With prudent Care prevent the Mischief fear'd,
And annually thy failing Herds renew.

The same, in chusing Steeds, must be observ'd:
Chiefly on Those for future Sires design'd,
Ev'n from their tender Age, thy Care employ.
The Colt of gen'rous Blood with lofty Port

177

Prances, and nimbly shifts his pliant Limbs:
Forward, the first, to range abroad, to tempt
The threat'ning Streams, and unknown Bridges pass;
Nor dreads he empty Noises. High his Neck,
His Head acute, his Belly thin, his Back
Fleshy, and round: His Chest with swelling Knots
Luxuriant: (Best for Colour is the Bay,
And Dappled; Worst, the Sorrel, and the White:)
Then if the Clank of distant Arms is heard;
He paws impatient, quickens his sharp Ears,
And quivers ev'ry Joint, and snorting curbs
The Smoke and Fire which in his Nostrils roll.
His full thick Main on his right Shoulder plays;

178

A double Spinal Bone his Chine divides;
His sounding Hoof with solid Horn upturns
The crumbling Mold, and rings against the Ground.
Such was fam'd Cyllarus, by Pollux rein'd;
And such the Steeds of Mars, by Grecian Bards
Immortal made; and Those which drew the Car
Of great Achilles. Such a Courser's Form
Saturn, his jealous Consort to deceive,
Flying, assum'd; when on his Neck he toss'd
His waving Main, and neigh'd thro' Pelton's Groves.

When weaken'd by Disease, or Years, he fails,
Indulge him, Hous'd; And, mindful of the Past,
Excuse his not dishonourable Age.
The Senior, frigid to the pleasing Fight,
Like Fire in Stubble, void of vigour, burns;
And impotently rages. Thus forewarn'd,
Mark Thou their Age, and Genius: Next to These
Their other Arts, their Lineage; and how Each
Exults, when Victor, and, when Vanquish'd, mourns.

Seest thou not, when the Chariots from the Bars
Starting spring forth, and smoke along the Field,
How each Contender's Hopes are rais'd arrect,
And anxious Fear beats in their throbbing Breasts?
Eager they clang the twisted Lash, and prone
Diffuse the Reins: The kindling Axis flies;

179

Now low they bend, now rise sublime in Air:
Nor Pause, nor Rest; A Cloud of yellow Sand
Is rais'd; The Foremost with their Followers' Foam
Are cover'd o'er; All panting urge the Race:
So great the Thirst of Victory, and Fame.

First daring Ericthonius to the Car
Four Horses join'd, and rode on rapid Wheels:
The Lapithæ first, mounting on their Backs,
Added the Reins; and taught them, under Arms,
Graceful to form their Steps, to wheel, and turn,
Insult the Ground, and proudly pace the Plain.
Equal the Toil of Both; With equal Care
The Horseman, and the Charioteer, selects
A youthful Stallion, fleet, and hot in Blood:
If Youth, and Strength he want, th'Attempt is vain;
Tho' oft Victorious he has turn'd the Foes
To Flight, and boasts Epirus, fam'd for Steeds,
Or brave Mycenæ, as his Native Soil,
And ev'n from Neptune's Breed his Race derives.
These things observ'd; the Time t'indulge the Males

180

In genial Love their utmost Care employs.
He, whom they chuse to propagate the Kind,
To be the Guide, and Father of the Herd,
Is pamper'd with the choicest Food; To Him
Young, juicy Herbs, and Corn, and limpid Streams
They minister: Lest in the pleasing Task
The Sire should fail deficient, and transmit
The Parent's Weakness to his feeble Race.
Diff'rent their Treatment of the Females: Them
They macerate, (when now the known Delight
Sollicites their Desires) deny them Food,
And drive them from the Streams, with ceaseless Toil
Shake them hard driv'n, and work them in the Sun;
When Threshing-floors groan with the beaten Grain,

181

And Chaff flies hov'ring in the rising Wind:
Lest too much Luxury and Ease should close
The Pores, and dull the Hymenëal Soil.

The Sires are now neglected; and our Care
Alternate on the Females is employ'd;
When now, their Months complete, they pregnant rove.
Let None permit them Now to draw the Wayne
Beneath the heavy Yoke, nor leap, nor run
Swift o'er the Meads, nor swim the rapid Streams:
In Glades, and near full Rivers let them feed,
Where Moss, and greenest Herbage on the Banks
Abounds luxuriant; where in Caves they lie,
And lofty Rocks refreshing Shades extend.

Round Mount Alburnus, green with leafy Oaks,
And in the Groves of Silarus, there flies
An Insect (Oestrus by the Greeks, by Us
'Tis nam'd Asilus) harsh with humming Noise
It flies: By which affrighted from the Woods
The Herds all run; Their Bellowings beat the Sky;
The Woods, and dry Tanagrus' Banks resound.
This Pest of old, to glut her vengeful Ire,
Stern Juno to Inachian Iö sent.
This too (for in the Heat it rages most)
Drive from the teeming Dams; and feed thy Herds,
When first the Sun, or Ev'ning Stars appear.

182

After the Birth, our Culture to the Calves
Is all transferr'd: First Marks are on them fix'd;
Distinguishing their Race, and what Employ
For Each is fit: This destin'd to preserve
The Species; That for Sacrifice; A Third
To cut the Glebe, and turn the stubborn Soil:
The rest promiscuous, and unnoted, feed
On the green Meadows. Those whom thou wouldst form
To Tillage, and the Study of the Plough,
Already, in their Nonage, must be train'd,
And disciplin'd, and broken; while their Minds
Are flexible, and docile of the Toil.
Let Collars, first, of slender Sallows made
Loose round their Necks be hung: But when their Necks
Freeborn they have accustom'd to the Yoke;
Join'd by Those Circles let them move in Pairs,
And justly match'd their mutual Steps compose.
Next let them oft along the level Ground
Draw empty Wheels, which lightly mark the Dust:
Then let the Beechen Axis, bound with Brass,
Move slow, and groan beneath the pond'rous Load.
Mean-while with Grass alone, and Leaves, and Sedge
Feed not thy untam'd Bullocks; but with Corn

183

Cropt in the Blade: Nor let thy suckling Cows,
As whilom, fill the snow-white Pails; but all
Their Udders for their tender Offspring drain.

But if to Martial Camps thy Study bend,
To form the mounted Troop; Or with thy Wheels
To whirl along near fam'd Alphëus' Stream,
And in Jove's Wood to drive the flying Car;
First be the Steed accustom'd to behold
The Warrior's Arms, and Courage; to endure
The Trumpet, and the rumbling Chariot's Noise,
And hear the Bridles rattle in the Stalls:
Then more and more to love the soothing Sound
Of the clap'd Chest, and proudly to rejoice
In the fond Praises of the busy Groom.
Thus, when first sever'd from the suckling Dam,
Let him be exercis'd, and taught to bear
Soft pliant Headstalls; in his weaker Age
Yet trembling, nor experienc'd from his Years.
But when another Summer to the Third
Is added; Let him now begin to wheel
In artful Rings; with sounding Hoofs to form
His Steps; to manage his alternate Feet
Sinuous and flexile; and to paw, and bound

184

With seeming Labour: Then to dare the Winds
In Fleetness; and, as if unrein'd, to fly
O'er the wide Plain, nor press th'unprinted Sand.
As when cold Boreas, from Riphæan Coasts
Incumbent, dissipates the Scythian Storms,
And dry light Clouds; The Corn, and floating Fields
Wave with the Blasts; The lofty Woods roar loud;
And long-stretch'd Billows tumble to the Shore:
Rapid he flies, and sweeps o'er Lands, and Seas.
A Steed thus train'd, or in the spacious Cirque
Will sweat, and labour round th'Eleian Goal,
And from his Mouth throw Flakes of bloody Foam;
Or more obsequious draw the Belgic Car.
When now They're broken, and more full in Years;
Let them be pamper'd, and enlarge their Size
With fatt'ning Corn: For, if high-fed before;
Impatient of the Lash, they will refuse
The biting Curb, and disobey the Rein.

But Nought will more their youthful Strength confirm,
(Whether in Steers, or Steeds thou most delight)
Than from them to avert, with studious care,
Soft Venus, and the hidden Stings of Love.

185

Therefore the Bulls to lonely distant Fields
Are driv'n; or by a rising Mountain's Height,
Or by a spacious River, from the Herds
Dissever'd; or within their plenteous Stalls
Hous'd, and confin'd. For sweet with luring Charms
The Female, when in Sight, by slow degrees
Consumes, and wastes the Vigour of the Male,
Unmindful of his Groves, and grassy Meads:
And oft to combate with their Horns impels
The haughty Rivals. In a Forest wide
A beauteous Heifer feeds: With mighty Force
They join in Battle, and repeated Wounds
Mutual inflict; Black Gore their Bodies laves;
Their Horns against each other struggling push
Direct; They roar aloud; The Woods, and huge
Olympus' Top reverberate the Noise.
Nor after This can Both together feed:
The Vanquish'd quits the Field; and exil'd seeks
Some unknown distant Coast, his dire Disgrace
Much mourning, and the haughty Victor's Wounds,
And his lost Loves, which unreveng'd he leaves;
And looking back, with oft retorted Eye,
From his hereditary Realm retires.
Therefore with utmost diligence his Strength
He exercises; lies all Night on Beds
Of Flints; on Sedge, and prickly Brambles feeds;
And practises the Fight; Against an Oak
Aiming his Horns, he pushes empty Air,
And spurns the Sand, preluding to the War.
When now his Vigour in full Force returns;

186

He marches, to attack his mindless Foe.
As when the Ocean whitens with the Foam,
And from afar rolls wavy to the Shore,
Roaring with dreadful Noise among the Rocks,
And riding, ridgy, of a Mountain's Height;
The lowest Deep with circling Eddy boils,
And to the Surface hurls the sable Sand.

Of ev'ry Kind on Earth, of Men, and Beasts,
Of Cattle, Fish, and parti-colour'd Fowl,
All rush into This Frenzy, and This Fire;
Love is the same to all. Then most severe
The Lioness, forgetful of her Whelps,
Ranges the Fields: Nor ever thro' the Woods
Do unshap'd Bears such wasteful Slaughter spread:
Most fatal Then the Tyger; Then the Boar
Most fell, and merciless. 'Tis Then (alas!)
Ill Travelling on Libya's desart Plains.
Seest thou not how the Horse, if once he snuffs
The well-known Odour wasted by the Wind,
Trembles all o'er; Nor can the Curb, nor Lash,
Nor Cliffs, nor Caverns, nor opposing Streams,
That whirl huge rocky Fragments, as they roll,

187

Retard his Fury? Ev'n the Sabin Boar
Rushes, and whets his Tusks, and stamps, and tears
The Ground; against a Tree alternate rubs
His brawny Sides, and hardens them to War.
What does That Youth, whom unrelenting Love
Consumes, and with his Vitals blends his Fire?
Darkling, in Dead of Night, he swims the Sea
Turbid with sudden Storms: while o'er his Head
Thunders the Gate of Heav'n, and from the Rocks
With dreadful Roar the broken Waves rebound:
Nor can his wretched Parents' Tears, nor She,
Th'unhappy Maid, whose Death must follow His,
Dissuade Him. What do Bacchus' spotted Lynx'?
And Wolves, a savage Race? And Dogs? And Deer,
Who, tho' by Nature tim'rous, dare in Love?
But more than All, the Fury of the Mares
Is wond'rous: Venus' self That Fury sent;
What time the Potnian Female-Steeds, which drew
The Car of Glaucus, piece-meal tore their Lord.
They by the stimulating Force of Love
Are driv'n beyond Ascanius' sounding Flood,
And craggy Garg arus; o'er Mountains climb,
And Rivers pass; And when in Spring the Flame
Burns fiercer, (For in Spring that Flame returns)
On lofty Rocks they stand; and in their Mouths,
Ope'd to the Western Breeze, the gentle Air
Receive; and oft (prodigious to relate!)

188

Without Connubials, pregnant by the Wind,
O'er Cliffs, and Hills, and lowly Valleys fly;
Not tow'rds the East, or to the rising Sun,
Nor tow'rds the North, or North-West, or that Point,
Whence the black South first low'rs upon the World
With Fogs, and Rain, and saddens all the Sky.
Hence the Hippomanes, so aptly nam'd
By Rusticks, from their Wombs at length distils;
Hippomanes, a viscid poys'nous Slime,
Which oft dire Stepdames cull, when Spells they try,
And mingle Herbs, and not innoxious Charms.
But Time flies on, irrevocable flies;
While we minutely trace our pleasing Theme.

Thus far of Herds. Another Care remains,
To manage fleecy Flocks, and shaggy Goats:
Great is this Task; From this, ye hardy Swains,
Hope You for Praise: And well I know, how great
The Labour to subdue These Things to Verse,
And dignify an Argument so mean.
But Me strong Passion for so sweet a Song
Transports in Rapture, thro' Parnassus' Heights
The least frequented; Pleas'd Those Paths I trace,
Which None before have trod, by soft Ascent
Inclining to the pure Castalian Stream.

189

Now, venerable Pales, raise our Strain.

First, I ordain, that in warm Huts the Sheep
Be fodder'd, 'till the leafy Spring returns;
And that the Frosty Ground with Fern, or Straw,
Be litter'd underneath them: Lest the Ice
Should hurt the tender Cattle, and induce
The foul contagious Scab, or cramp their Limbs.
Next, I advise that with the verdant Leaves
Of Arbutus the Goats may be supply'd,
And with fresh Springs; And that their Stalls from Winds
Be shelter'd, to the Winter Sun oppos'd,
And pointing to the South; when now with Cold,
And Rain, Aquarius, setting, shuts the Year.
To These is no less Culture due; nor less
Their Profit: Tho' Milesian Fleeces, ting'd
With Tyrian Purple, swell the Merchant's Gains.
These breed more fruitful; These in Milk abound:
And ev'n the more they fill the frothing Pails,
From their press'd Dugs more plenteous Rivers flow.
Nor less their long grey Hairs, and shaggy Beards
Cinyphian He-Goats yield; a Cov'ring fit
For Tents, and poor industrious Mariners.

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For Food, they browze the Thickets, and the Top
Of bleak Lycæus, prickly Thorns in Brakes,
And Bushes which high Rocks, and Mountains love.
Themselves, spontaneous, to their Home return,
Bringing their Young; and, with their strutting Dugs,
Laborious, o'er th'opposing Threshold climb.
Therefore Their Want of Care and Guard, to shun
The Ills of Life by Thine must be supply'd:
From Them with all thy Diligence avert
The Frost, and Winds, and Snow; with lib'ral Hand
Indulge them Food, and leafy Browze; nor shut,
While Winter lasts, thy Magazines of Hay.
But when gay Spring returns, and Zephyrs breathe
Inviting; to the Lawns and Pastures send
Both Goats, and Sheep: When Venus first appears;
On the cool Herbage let them feed; while fresh
The Morning rises, while the Meads are grey,
And most the Cattle on the tender Grass
Enjoy the Dew. But when advancing Day,
At the fourth Hour, gives Thirst to Men and Beasts;
And creaking Grashoppers in Bushes sing;
Then let thy Flocks from Wells, or deep-sunk Ponds
Drink running Streams, thro' Oaken Pipes convey'd;
And in the Mid-day's sultry Fervour seek
A shady Vale; Where Jove's tall aged Tree
Extends its Length of Boughs; and thick with Oaks
A gloomy Grove lets fall its sacred Shade.

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But when the Sun withdraws; from limpid Streams
Repeat their Bev'rage; Let them feed again:
When cooling Vesper moderates the Air;
And now the Groves are by the dewy Moon
Refresh'd; the Shores Halcyone resound;
And the sweet Goldfinch warbles thro' the Brakes.

Of Libya's Swains, and Pastures, in my Verse
Why should I tell? And of their Huts on Plains
Thinly dispers'd? Their Flocks whole Days, and Nights,
And Months, unshelter'd, thro' long Desarts go,
Grazing; So much of Field extended lies:
The Shepherd all his Substance with him brings,
Itinerant; his Weapons, House, and Gods,
His trusty Spartan Dog, and Cretian Shafts.
As when the warlike Roman, under Arms,
Charg'd with a Baggage of unequal Weight,
Pursues his March; and unexpected stands,
Pitching his sudden Tent, before the Foe.

Not so, in Scythia's Realms; nor near the Lake
Mœotis, nor where turbid Ister whirls
His yellow Sand; nor where, beneath the Pole,
Bleak Rhodope, out-stretch'd, rejoins it's Rocks.
There closely hous'd they keep their Herds; No Grass
Upon the Fields is seen, no Leaves on Trees:
But Frost, and Ice, and ridgy Heaps of Snow,

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Sev'n Ells in Height, deform the Country round.
Eternal Winter reigns, and freezing Winds:
The Sun ne'er dissipates the hazy Gloom;
Not, when his Steeds mount upwards to the Sky;
Nor when he washes in the Ocean's Waves,
Red with his Beams, his prone descending Car.
The running Streams to sudden Crusts congeal:
The Water on it's Surface Iron Wheels
Sustains; and Carts are driv'n, where Lighters sail'd.
Brass splits; Their russling Garments stiffen frore;
With Axes Wine is hewn; To solid Glass
The standing Puddles in the Dikes are turn'd;
And Icicles hang rigid from their Beards.
Nor less, mean-while, it snows o'er all the Air:
The Cattle die; The Neat, of bulky Size,
With Frost surrounded stand; The Stags in Droves,
Benumb'd beneath th'unusual Weight, scarce raise
Their Heads, or with their topmost Horns appear.
These the rough Hunters nor with Dogs, nor Toils,
Nor with the Line of crimson Plumes pursue;
But, as in vain they labour with their Breasts,
And push against th'opposing Hills of Snow,
Stab them, with Swords, or Spears, in closer Fight,
Braying aloud; and, with a mighty Shout,
Triumphant, carry off the bleeding Prey.
Themselves in low-sunk Caverns, under Ground,

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Secure, and jovial live; whole Oaks, and Elms,
Roll to the Hearths, and pile them on the Fire;
In Mirth and Jollity protract the Night;
And Beer, and Cyder quaff, instead of Wine.
Such is th'unbroken Race of Men, who live
Beneath the Pole; by rough Riphæan Blasts
For ever buffeted, and with the Skins
And tawny Furs of Beasts their Bodies cloath.

If Wool be thy Delight; From prickly Brakes,
And Burs, and Thistles, be thy Flocks remov'd:
Rich Pastures shun; soft, snow-white Fleeces chuse.
The Ram, tho' white Himself, if underneath
His humid Palate ev'n his Tongue be black,
Discard, (lest He with sable Spots infect
The new-born Lambs, discolouring the Race)
And seek Another o'er the well-stock'd Field.
With Wool of This pure Teint (if such a Fame
Deserve our Credit) Pan, th'Arcadian God,
Deceiv'd Thee, Cynthia, by That Gift allur'd;
Nor wert Thou coy to follow, at his Call,
Into the deep Recesses of the Grove.

But He, whose Study is on Milk employ'd,
With Lote, and Citysus must store the Cribs;
And minister salt Herbs: For fodder'd Thus
They drink the more, the more distend their Dugs,

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And in their Milk the hidden Salt retain.
Some sever from their Dams the well-grown Kids,
And with hard prickly Muzles bind their Mouths.
What with the rising Morn, or in the Day,
They milk'd, at Night they press: But what at Eve
And with the setting Sun, in Vats and Pails,
The Shepherd, early, to the Town conveys;
Or lightly salted keeps for Winter-Store.

Nor be thy Care of Dogs the last; but feed
With fatt'ning Whey the brave Molossian Race,
And the fleet Spartan: Never (while They watch)
The nightly Thief, or Inroads of the Wolf,
Or ravaging Iberian, shalt thou fear.
Oft too with Hounds the timorous Wild-Ass
Thou shalt pursue; with Hounds, the Hare, and Hind;
Oft from his Wallowing-Beds in Thickets rouse
The silvan Boar, and chase him in full Cry;
And o'er the lofty Mountains, with a Shout,
The stately Stag into thy Toyls impel.

Learn too with Smoke of Cedar to perfume
Thy Stalls, and drive away with Scent of Gums

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The hostile Serpents. Oft beneath thy Cribs
Unmov'd, the Viper, of pernicious Touch,
Lurks unperceiv'd, and frighted flies the Light:
Or the huge Snake, to Coverts, and the Shade,
Accustom'd, direful Pest of lowing Herds,
Infects them with his Poyson; and to Earth
Clings, skulking. Farmer, fill thy Hand with Stones,
Or with a Club; and Him with wrathful Hiss
Threatning aloud, and heaving his swoln Neck,
Demolish: Now in Flight full deep he hides
His coward Head; when now his middle Folds
Lie slacken'd, and unfurl'd; and of his Tail
Th'extremest Winding drags it's lingring Spires.
A Serpent too of more distinguish'd Note
Lurks in Calabria's Woods; His Breast erect;
His scaly Back convolv'd; His Belly long,
And speckled with large Spots. While Rivers burst
From Fountains; while in dewy Spring the Earth
Is moisten'd by the rainy Southern Winds;
He lives in Water: and, the Nooks of Banks
Inhabiting, on Fish, and croaking Frogs,

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Voracious, feeds; and crams his filthy Maw.
But when the Ponds are dry'd, and Summer cleaves
The Soil adust; He darts into the Fields,
Raging, and rolling round his fiery Eyes,
Scar'd by the Heat, exasp'rated with Thirst.
Ah! may I never Then in open Air
Sweet Sleep indulge, nor lie upon the Grass
In a cool Glade; when, having cast his Skin,
And new, and sleek in glitt'ring Youth, he rolls;
Or, leaving in his Den his Eggs, or Young,
Sublime against the Sun, his burnish'd Crest
Uprears, and darts his quiv'ring forky Tongue.

Diseases next, their Causes, and their Signs,
I will explain. The foul contagious Scab
Seizes the Sheep: when far into their Flesh
The Cold of Rain, or Winter's hoary Frost
Has sunk; Or to their new-shorn Sides the Sweat
Adheres, unwash'd away; Or prickly Briers
Their Bodies wound. This Mischief to prevent,
The Swains in clear fresh Rivers wash their Flocks;
The Ram, when plung'd into the Flood, dismiss'd
Swims down, and smoothly cuts the current Stream:
Or with the bitter Lees of Oil they tinge
Their Bodies shorn; and mingle Silver's Spume,

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And living Sulphur, and Sea-Leek, and Wax,
Idæan Pitch, and viscid unctuous Tar,
Rank Hellebore, and black Bitumen's Slime.
But of all Remedies more present found
Is None, than with the sharpen'd Steel to launce
The Ulcer's Orifice: The Mischief lives
By being hid, and more invet'rate grows;
While to the Malady the restive Swain
Refuses to apply his healing Hands,
And, sitting, prays the Gods for better Fate.
But when th'acute Disease has pierc'd more deep.
Raging within the bleating Patient's Bones;
And on his Limbs a scorching Fever feeds;
'Twill profit, to avert the burning Heat,
And open in his Foot the leaping Vein:
As the Bisaltæ practise, and the fierce
Geloni; when to Rhodope they fly,
And to the Getie Desarts; where they drink
Coagulated Milk, with Horses Blood.

Whatever Sheep thou seest to Shades retire
More frequent; or more negligently chew
The topmost Grass; or loiter in the Rear;
Or, feeding, on the Field lie down; or late,
And lonely, with the Close of Eve, returne
Delay not, kill th'Infected; e'er thro' all

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Th'unwary Flock the dire Contagion spread.
Less multiply'd are Whirlwinds in a Storm,
Than Plagues among the Cattle: Nor content
With single Deaths, they sweep whole Plains at once,
Whole Folds, and Herds, and all their future Hopes.

This may He know; who views th'aëreal Alps,
And Noric Castles, high, on Mountains rear'd;

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And Countries water'd by Timavus' Stream;
The Shepherds' Kingdoms ev'n Now desart seen;
And far and wide the desolated Groves.
'Twas Here, long since, a Plague from tainted Air
Rose, and with all the Fires of Autumn burn'd;
Beasts, tame, and savage, of all Species, slew;
Poyson'd the Rivers; o'er the Pastures spread
Contagious Juice. Nor simple was the Form
Of Death: For when the burning Fever, shot
Thro' all their Veins, had cramp'd their tortur'd Limbs;
A fluid Slime abounded; and their Bones,
Piecemeal dissolv'd, to it's own Substance turn'd.
Oft, standing at the Altar, and with Wreaths,
And woolly Fillets bound, the Victim Bull,
In the mid Honour of the Gods, fell dead
Between the lingring Sacrificers' Hands.
Or if the Priest dispatch'd him, e'er he fell;
The Fibres burn not, on the Altars laid;
Nor can the holy Seer, consulted, give
The Answers of the Gods; The Knives, beneath

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Infix'd, are faintly redden'd with the Gore;
A meagre Stream of putrid Matter flows,
And scarce imbrowns the Surface of the Sand.
In ev'ry Pasture, on the verdant Grass,
The Calves all die; and render their sweet Souls
Before the plenteous Racks: The gentle Dogs
Run mad: The wheezing Swine with rattling Coughs
Are torn, and strangled in their swelling Throats.
Unhappy of his Toils, the Victor Steed
Sinks, and forgets his Food; and loaths the Streams,
And paws the Ground, and hangs his flaggring Ears;
Bedew'd with doubtful Sweats; and Those, near Death,
Clammy, and cold: His rigid Hide resists
The Touch, and harden'd no Impression takes.
These Symptoms first: But, as the Evil grows
More obstinate, and gathers Strength from Time;
His Eyes are all inflam'd; From his deep Breast
His Breath with Labour heaves; Long Sobs and Groans
Distend his Entrails: From his Nostrils drops
Black ropy Gore; and to his Jaws his Tongue,
Clotted with Filth, and Putrefaction, cleaves.
A Drench of Wine at first was helpful found,
Pour'd thro' a Horn; That seem'd the sole Ressource:
At length ev'n That prov'd fatal; and, with Rage

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Recruited, in the Pangs of Death, they tore
With their bare Teeth their mangled Flesh: Ye Gods,
To pious Mortals grant a better Mind,
And turn That dire Distraction on our Foes.
Smoking beneath the Plough the sturdy Steer
Falls down, and spues a Flood of Gore and Foam,
And groans his last: The pensive Hind unyokes
His mourning Fellow-Lab'rer, and amidst
Th'unfinish'd Furrow leaves the sticking Share.
No Shades of Groves, no grassy Meads can move
His Soul; Nor Streams, which, rolling o'er the Stones,
Purer than Crystal, glide along the Fields:
His long deep Flank hangs flabby, and relax'd;
Fix'd in their Sockets stand his stupid Eyes;
And prone to Earth his heavy Head hangs down.
What Now avail his Toils to human Kind
Beneficent? What boots him to have turn'd
The stubborn Glebe? Yet not the Massic Gifts
Of Bacchus, no rich Banquets, cause their Pain:

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The Trees, and Pastures, yield them simple Food;
Their Bev'rage, limpid Springs, and running Streams;
Nor is their healthful Sleep disturb'd by Cares.
'Twas Then, they say, that Kine, for Juno's Rites,
Were wanting; and by Bufaloes ill-match'd
Her Chariots to the stately Temples drawn.
Then too the Earth was by the weary Hinds
Themselves, instead of Ploughs, with Harrows, till'd;
With their own Hands they dug, and set the Grain;
And, o'er the lofty Mountains, on their Necks,
Strain'd with vast Labour, drew the rattling Car.
The Wolf no longer, nightly roaming round,
Prouls, and explores the Cotts; A sharper Care
Subdues him: Now the tim'rous Hinds and Deer
Among the Dogs, and round the Houses, rove.
Now the vast Ocean's Progeny, and all
The finny Race, like ship-wreck'd Bodies, thrown
Upon the Shore, lie beaten by the Waves:
The Phocæ to the wond'ring Rivers fly:

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The Viper, vainly by her winding Den
Defended, and the Snakes, with staring Scales,
Amaz'd expire. Ev'n to the Birds the Air
Is mortal; and beneath the Clouds aloft
They leave their Lives, and headlong fall to Earth.
Nor aught the Change of Pasture now avails;
The med'c'nal Arts prove hurtful: In Those Arts
The Chief, fam'd Chiron, and Melampus, cease
Their fruitless Labour. From the Stygian Gloom
To upper Light Tisiphone ascends;
Before her drives Diseases, and Dismay;
Rages, and, rising, higher still uprears
Her baleful Head, and gains upon the Sky.
With bleating Sheep, and lowing Herds, the Streams,
The sloping Mountains, and dry Banks, resound.
Now Heaps on Heaps expire: Ev'n in the Stalls,
And Stables, Carcasses promiscuous lie,
Rotting in Gore: 'Till, urg'd by That Distress,
They learnt to hide, and bury them in Earth.
For of their Skins no Use was made; Their Flesh
No Water could dilute, nor Fire subdue.
Nor could they shear the Fleeces, by the Plague,
And running Sores corrupted; nor ev'n touch,
Unhurt, the putrid Wool: Or if they try'd
Th'infectious Cloathing; fiery Whelks, and Blains,

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And Sweats, of noisome Stench, their Bodies seiz'd:
And in short space, from That contagious Touch,
The sacred Fire their tainted Limbs devour'd.

The End of the Third Book.

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BOOK the Fourth.

206

Aereal Honey next, celestial Gift,
I sing: This too, Mecænas, claims your Thoughts.
Wonders conceal'd in little Things to You
I will unfold; brave Chiefs, of all the Race
The various People, Manners, Studies, Arts,
And Battles. Small the Argument: Not small
The Glory; if the unpropitious Pow'rs
Oppose not, and Apollo hears our Pray'r.

First for Your Bees a Station must be found,
To Gusts of Wind impervious; For the Winds
Forbid them to bring home their balmy Spoils:
Nor let the Sheep, or frisking Kids, insult

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The Flow'rs; nor Heifers, roaming o'er the Field,
Shake off the Dew, or crush the rising Herbs.
Far from their Hives be speckled Lizards driv'n;
The Woodpeck, too; and Progne, on her Breast,
Distinct with Spots of Blood: For These of All
Wide Ravage make; and ev'n the humming Prey
Snatch'd in their Mouths bear to their cruel Young,
Grateful Repast. But let fresh Springs, and Ponds
Verdant with Moss, be near; and shallow Brooks,
That with swift Current thro' the Meadows run:
And let a Palm, or huge Wild-Olive, shade
The Entrance: That, when first the recent Kings
Draw out their Swarms; and, issuing from the Hives,
The Youth luxuriant sports in vernal Air;
The neighb'ring Banks may tempt them to avoid
The Heat; and Trees with hospitable Boughs
Obvious detain them. Whether dull in Ponds
Thy Water stand, or flow in living Rills;
Into the Midst throw Willow-Boughs across,
And planky Stones: Where, as on Bridges rais'd,
They may alight; and to the Summer-Sun
Expand their Wings; if chance the Eastern Blast
Boist'rous has sprinkled them returning late;
Or plung'd them, blown askance, into the Waves.
Near These, let Store of Lavender, and Thyme,

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Strong-scented Herbs, and Mint, and Sav'ry grow;
And Beds of Violets drink the running Stream.
Whether thy Hives compact of hollow Bark
Be made, or wov'n with bending Osier-Twigs;
Still be the Entrance strait: For Winter's Cold
Coagulates the Honey; Summer's Heat
Melts and dissolves it. Either by the Bees
Alike is to be dreaded: Nor for Nought
Do They with Wax, and Flow'rs, and Fucus fill
And point the narrow Cranies of their Cells;
And for this Purpose hoard collected Glew,
More tough than Birdlime, or Idæan Pitch.
Oft too in Caverns, (if we credit Fame)
They dig their secret Mansions; and in Clefts
Of Pumice, and in hollow Oaks are found.
Yet not the less do Thou their chinky Walls
Daub with smooth Clay; and plaister them around,
And add thin Leaves. Nor nigh Those Walls permit
The Eugh; Nor burn the redd'ning Crabs; nor trust
Deep Waters; nor let Dung of noisome Scent
Be near; nor concave Rocks, from which, when struck
With Noise, the Image of a Voice rebounds.
For what remains; when Sol beneath the Globe
Has banish'd Winter, and with Summer's Light

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Enlarg'd the Air; thro' Lawns, and Groves they fly,
And sip the purple Flow'rs, and skim the Streams:
Hence studious, with I know not what Delight,
They feed-their tender Young; and build, with Art,
Their waxen Cells; and work the viscous Sweets.
Hence, when a Swarm, from it's disburthen'd Hive,
Swimming thro' Heav'n's high Arch thou shalt behold,
And wond'ring see a Cloud in Air serene
Black'ning aloft, and wafted by the Wind;
Observe: Fresh Springs, and Trees they always seek;
Here sprinkle Thou th'appointed Odours, Juice
Of Baum, and Honey-suckle's vulgar Flow'r;
And ring the sounding Brass, and round them shake
The Berecynthian Timbrel: They themselves
Will on the medicated Place alight,
And nestle in the inmost Hive's Recess.

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But if to Fight They issue forth; (for oft
Between two Kings, with Tumult, Discord reigns:)
The Vulgar's Rage, and Courage, and their Hearts
Trembling with eager Appetite of War,
You may foreknow. A Clarion, shrill as Brass,
Rouses the Laggers; and a Martial Noise
Distant is heard, like Trumpets' broken Sounds.
Then trembling they unite, and shake their Wings,
And with their sharp Proboscis whet their Darts,
And fit their Claws; and round their Monarch's Court
Thicken, and muster; and with loud Acclaim
Provoke the Foe. Now, having gain'd a Sky
Serene, and open Fields of vernal Air,
They issue from their Gates; and join the Shock
Of Battle: Humming thro' th'Ethereal Void,
In one huge Cluster they conglobe, and fall
Precipitant; Not thicker falls the Hail,
Nor Show'rs of Acorns from a shaken Oak.
The Kings Themselves, betwixt the middle Ranks,
Conspicuous shine, and spread their glist'ning Wings,

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(Their little Bodies mighty Souls inform!)
Resolute not to yield, 'till These, or Those,
Push'd by the Victor, turn their Backs in Flight.
These fierce Encounters, and This Martial Rage,
A little Dust thrown upwards will allay.
But when both Leaders from the foughten Field
Thou hast recall'd; the Vanquish'd, lest he live,
Hurtful, on Plunder, by thy Hand must bleed;
The Conqu'ror in his Court, unrival'd, reign.
The One (for diff'rent are their Species) burns
With vary'd Spots, and Gold; His Form all o'er
Beauteous, and bright with glist'ring Scales: This Kind
The Best; The other horrid, and with Sloth
Inglorious, trails his swagging Paunch along.
Nor less the People, than their Kings, are found
Of Forms distinct: Some foul, of dusky Hue;
As when the Trav'ler, on a sandy Road,
From his dry Mouth spits Froth commix'd with Dust:
Some glaring shine, and glow with Drops of Gold.

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Be These preferr'd: From These, at stated Times,
Sweet Honey thou shalt press; yet not so sweet,
As pure, and fine, and fitted to correct
The harsher Relish of the Bacchian Juice.
But when the Swarms uncertain sport in Air,
Disdain their Combs, and quit their vacant Hives;
Do Thou forbid their foolish Play, and fix
Their flutt'ring Thoughts. Nor arduous is the Task:
Clip their Kings' Pinions; While They stay, not One
Durst march, or move the Standard from the Camp.
Let Gardens, breathing with sweet-scented Flow'rs,
Invite them; and Priapus with his Scythe
Of Willow, terrible to Thieves, and Birds,
Those Gardens keep. Let Him, whom such a Care
Sollicits, from the lofty Mountains bring
Fresh Thyme, and gummy Pines; and plant them round
Their Straw-built Tents: Nor let Himself refuse.

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With the hard Labour to indent his Hand;
With his own Hand the fertile Layers fix
In Earth, and o'er them sprinkle friendly Show'rs.

And Here, did I not hasten now to furl
My Sails, and turn my Vessel to the Shore;
Perhaps of fruitful Gardens I might sing,
What Care must on their Culture be employ'd;
How twice each Year the Pestan Roses bloom;
How Endive, and green Banks where Parsley grows,

214

Rejoicing drink the Rills; and thro' the Grass
The tortuous bellying Cucumber creeps on:
Nor would I pass unsung Narcissus' Flow'r
Late-blowing, nor Acanthus' flexile Stalk,
Pale Ivy, and the Myrtle loving Shores.
For underneath Oebalia's lofty Tow'rs,
Where black Galesus' Stream the yellow Glebe
Refreshes, I remember to have seen
An old Corycian Yeoman; to whose Lot
A few hereditary Acres fell:
The Soil to Steers unfriendly, and to Sheep;
Nor for the Vine commodious. Yet ev'n Here
He in This Mold, with Thorns e'erwhile o'ergrown,
Planting thin Sallad, and white Lilies, round,
Vervain, and wholesome Poppies, in his Thoughts
Equal'd a Monarch's Wealth; and, late at Night

215

Returning home, with unbought Viands crown'd
His plenteous Board: In Autumn, first was He
To pluck the Apple; and in Spring, the Rose.
Ev'n when sharp Winter cleft the Rocks with Frost,
And fast in Chains of Ice the Rivers bound;
Ev'n Then he shear'd the soft Acanthus' Leaves,
Slow Summer blam'd, and Zephyr's ling'ring Breeze.
Therefore in well-stock'd Hives, and num'rous Swarms
He first abounded; from the Combs first squeez'd
The frothing Honey: The Linden, and the Pine
Flourish'd for Him; and whate'er Apples Spring
Promis'd in Blossoms, Autumn ripen'd gave.
He too in Ranks dispos'd the late-grown Elms,
And the hard Pear-Tree, and the Plumb ev'n Then
Laden with Fruitage; and the Plane which yields
To Bacchus' Sons its hospitable Shade.
But These I pass, in narrow Bounds confin'd;
And leave by future Poets to be sung.

216

Next I'll unfold, what Nature to the Bee
By Jove Himself was giv'n; For which Reward,
Following the Sound of Corybantian Brass,
They fed Heav'n's King beneath the Cretian Cave.
Of all the mute Creation These alone
A publick Weal, and common Int'rest know,
Imbody'd; and subsist by certain Laws.
Mindful of Winter, they in Summer toil;
And for their Country's Good preserve their Store.
Some, by joint Compact, range the Fields for Food,
Industrious: Others in their Tents at home
Narcissus' clammy Tears, and Gum from Trees,
Lay, as the first Foundation of their Combs;
Then into Arches build the viscid Wax:
Others draw forth their Colonies adult,
The Nation's Hope: Some work the purer Sweets,
And with the liquid Nectar stretch their Cells:
Some (such their Post allotted) at the Gates,
Stand Sentry; and alternate watch, the Rain,
And Clouds, observing; or unlade their Friends
Returning; or in Troops beat off the Drones,
A lazy Cattle: Hot the Work proceeds;
And fresh with Thyme the fragrant Honey smells.
As when the Cyclops from the glowing Mass

217

Labour Jove's Bolts: In breathing Bellows, Some
Receive, and render back, th'included Air;
Others in Water tinge the sputt'ring Brass;
Ætna with batter'd Anvils groans around:
They with vast Strength in equal Measures raise
Their Arms; and turn the Mass with griping Tongs.
So (if great Things we may compare with small)
The inbred Love of Getting prompts the Bees
Their Labours to divide. The aged Sires
With curious Architecture build their Cells;
And guard their Towns; and fortify their Combs.
But late at Night the Youth fatigu'd return;
Their Legs with Thyme full-laden: Hov'ring round
They suck the Arbutus, and Willows grey,
Sweet Lavender, and Crocus' yellow Flow'r,
The purple Hyacinth, and gummy Lime.
They toil Together, and Together rest:
With the first Morn they issue from their Gates;
Again, when Vesper warns them to return

218

From Feeding, and the Fields; they homewards bend,
Refresh their Bodies, and with murm'ring Noise
Hum round the Sides, and Entrance of their Hives:
At length in Silence hush'd all Night repose;
And their own Sleep relieves their weary Limbs.
While Rain impends, or Winds begin to rise;
They rove not far from Home, nor trust the Sky:
But drink, secure, beneath their City's Walls;
And short Excursions try; and oft with Sand
Ballast Themselves, like Ships on tossing Waves,
And poise their Bodies thro' the Void of Air.

One Quality in Bees thou wilt admire;
That genial Love they know not, nor indulge
Venus' soft Joys, nor propagate their Kind.
From Herbs, and fragrant Simples, with their Mouths
They cull their Young; From thence the Insect King,
And all his little Subjects they supply;
And build their Palaces, and waxen Realms.
Oft too, as o'er hard Flints they rove, they tear
Their filmy Wings; and chuse, o'ercharg'd, to die
Beneath the fragrant Burthen. Such their Love
Of Flow'rs; so pow'rful is their Thirst of Fame
In forming Honey. Therefore tho' their Term
Of Life be short, (sev'n Summers, and no more;)

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Yet the immortal Progeny remains:
For many Years the Kingdom's Fortune stands;
And Grandsires number Grandsires in their Line.

Besides; not Egypt, nor wide Lydia's Realms,
Nor Parthia, nor Hydaspes, with such Zeal
Adore their King. Their King surviving, All
Unanimous concur; His Death dissolves
Society: Themselves their Honey-Stores,
And all the curious Texture of their Combs,
Demolish. He o'er all their Works presides;
Him they admire; and in one Body form'd,
Humming, inclose him round; And oft in War
Support him on their Shoulders; for His Life
Expose Their own, and court the glorious Death.

Some think, by These Appearances induc'd,
That to the Bees an Energy Divine,
And Part of the Celestial Mind, is giv'n;
For that a God, diffus'd thro' all the Mass,
Pervades the Earth, the Sea, and Deep of Air:
Hence Men, and Cattle, Herds, and savage Beasts,

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All at their Births, receive ethereal Life;
Hither again, dissolv'd, they back return;
Nor Death takes place; but all, immortal, fly
To Heav'n, and in their proper Stars reside.

Whenever You undam their narrow Cells,
And take their treasur'd Sweets; first from your Mouth
Spurt Water on them, and before You send
The hated Scent of persecuting Smoke.
Twice They condense their Honey; Twice You seize
The balmy Spoils: When first Taygete shews
Her beauteous Head, and spurns the Ocean's Waves;
Or, yielding to the show'ry Fish, from Heav'n,
More sad, into the stormy Sea descends.
No Bounds their Anger knows: but, when provok'd,

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Into their Stings sharp Venom they inspire;
And leave their hidden Darts, among the Veins
Infix'd; and shoot their Souls into the Wound.

But if the Winter's keener Blasts you dread,
And for the Future save; their broken State
Commiserating, and their drooping Cheer:
Yet who would doubt to fumigate their Hives
With Thyme, and pare the empty Wax away?
For oft the skulking Lizard eats their Combs;
Their Cells are stuff'd with Grubs that shun the Light;

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The lazy Drone that preys on Others' Toils,
And the rough Hornet in unequal Arms,
Warring, engage: And Moths, an hostile Race;
And Spiders, hated by Minerva, hang
Their loose intangling Webs before their Gates.
The more they are exhausted; still the more
They All, industrious, labour to repair
The Ruins of the sinking State, to fill
Their Cells, and work their Combs with Wax from Flow'rs.

But if (for They like Us th'allotted Ills
Of Life partake) by any sore Disease
Their Bodies languish; That by certain Signs
Thou may'st discern. When sick, of diff'rent Hue
They will appear, emaciated, and foul;
The Corpses of their Dead with fun'ral Pomp
They carry, and in sad Procession move:

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Or thick in Clusters hang before their Doors;
Or All confin'd within their Houses stay,
Slothful in Penury, and Cramp'd with Cold.
Then a long drawling heavier Hum is heard;
As when cool Auster whispers thro' the Woods;
Or Ocean murmurs, hoarse with refluent Waves;
Or rapid Fire, pent in a Furnace, roars.
Here I advise to burn strong-scented Gums;
And Honey to convey thro' Pipes of Cane;
Inviting them to taste their well-known Food.
'Twill further profit, the Oak-Apple's Juice
To mingle; and dry Roses; or rich Wine,
Whose third Part has evap'rated by Fire;
Or Grapes which from the Psythian Vine are dry'd;
Rank-smelling Cent'ry; and Cecroprian Thyme.
In Meadows too there grows a Flow'r, by Swains

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Amellus call'd, and obvious to be found;
For from one Turf a mighty Grove it rears:
It's Stem of golden Hue; but in it's Leaves,
Which copious round it sprout, the purple Teint
Of deep-dy'd Violets more glossy shines.
Oft it adorns the Altars of the Gods
With twining Wreaths: Harsh is it's Taste: The Swains,
In new-mow'd Vales, near Mella's winding Stream,
Gather This Herb: Do Thou with fragrant Wine
Seeth it's bruis'd Roots; and in full Baskets hang
These Viands at the Entrance of their Hives.

But if the Race be totally extinct;
Nor any Method to restore it, known:
'Tis time the great Invention to unfold,
Which by th'Arcadian Shepherd was disclos'd;
How, oft, from putrid Gore of Cattle slain
Bees have been bred: This Wonder I will trace
From it's first Source, and open all the Fame.
For where the Bord'rers of o'erflowing Nile
In fortunate Canopus live, and round
Their delug'd Fields in painted Galleys sail;
Where Quiver-bearing Persia's neighb'ring Coasts
Urge them, contiguous; and the River, roll'd

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From swarthy India, thro' sev'n Chanels roars,
Fatt'ning green Egypt with it's sable Sand:
All the wide Region from This Art expects
Infallible Relief. A narrow Place,
And for That Use contracted, first they chuse;
Then more contract it, in a narrower room,
Wall'd round, and cover'd with a low-built Roof;
And add four Windows, of a slanting Light,
From the four Winds. A Bullock then is sought,
His Horns just bending in their second Year;
Him, much reluctant, with o'erpow'ring Force,
They bind; his Mouth, and Nostrils stop, and all
The Avenues of Respiration close;
And buffet him to Death: His Hide no Wound
Receives; His batter'd Entrails burst Within.
Thus pent they leave him; and beneath his Sides
Lay Shreds of Boughs, fresh Lavender, and Thyme.
This; when soft Zephyrs' Breeze first curls the Waves,
Before the Meadows blush with recent Flow'rs,
And prattling Swallows hang their Nests on high.
Mean-while the Juices in the tender Bones
Heated ferment; and (wond'rous to behold)

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Small Animals, in Clusters, thick are seen,
Short of their Legs at first: On filmy Wings,
Humming, at length they rise; and more and more
Fan the thin Air: 'till, numberless as Drops
Pour'd down in Rain from Summer-Clouds, they fly;
Or as fleet Shafts, shot from the twanging Nerve,
When the swift Parthians first engage in Fight.
What God, Ye Muses, Author of This Art,
Disclos'd the new Experiment to Man?

The Shepherd Aristæus (such the Fame)
Flying Penëian Tempe, having lost
His Bees, by Famine, and by Plagues consum'd,
Stood pensive at the sacred River's Head;
And to his Sea-green Parent Thus complain'd.
Mother, Cyrene; Mother, of This Stream
Profound, Inhabitant; Why bore you Me
(If, as You boast, Apollo be my Sire)
Of Race Celestial, yet accurst by Fate?
Or whither is your Love for Me withdrawn?
You bade me hope for Heav'n: Ah! Why Those Hopes?
Lo! Ev'n This Honour of a Mortal State,
The Custody of Cattle, and of Corn,
Which by unweary'd Diligence and Toil,
All Things exploring, I struck out at last,
Ev'n This I lose; and yet am call'd Your Son.

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Go on then; and uproot my happy Groves
With your own Hand; my Crops, and Stables burn;
Murder my Harvests; Lay my Vineyards waste:
Since such your Envy of my rising Fame.

These Sounds, beneath the Chambers of the Deep,
His Mother heard: The Nymphs around her sate,
Spinning Milesian Fleeces, deeply dy'd
In Juice of glassy Green; Phyllodoce,
Drymo, Ligéa, Xantho, their bright Hair
Loose flowing down their snow-white Necks; Thalia,
Nesæe, Spio, and Cymodoce;
Yellow Lycorias, and Cydippe fair,
The Last a Virgin, in Lucina's Pains
The Other just experienc'd; Beröe,
And Clio, Daughters of old Ocean Both,
Both clad in Gold, and spotted Skins of Beasts;
Ephyre, Opis, Asian Dëiopeia,
And Arethusa, Huntress now no more.
Them Clymene amus'd with pleasing Tales;
Related Vulcan's unsuccessful Care,
And the sweet Thefts, and delicate Intrigues,
Of Mars: Deduc'd the Lineage of the Gods,
And down from Chaos trac'd their num'rous Loves.
While, with such Songs delighted, They on Reels
Wind the soft Yarn; again the plaintive Voice
Of Aristæus strikes his Mother's Ears:
Amaz'd All listen, on their crystal Seats;

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But Arethusa, sooner than the rest,
Above the Waves uprears her beauteous Head;
And Thus from far: O not in vain alarm'd
By such Complaints, Cyrene, Sister, see;
Himself, Your chief Concern, your darling Care,
The pensive Aristæus, at the Head
Of Father Peneus' River, weeping stands;
And calls you cruel, and invokes your Name.

To whom Cyrene, struck with sudden Fear;
Conduct, conduct him to Us: He by Fate
Is free to visit the Divine Abodes.
At once she bids on either side retire
The Rivers, that the Youth unhurt might pass:
Him, like a Mountain, arch'd, the standing Waves
Surround; their spacious Bosom open wide,
And speed his Entrance to the hoary Deep.
And now admiring at his Mother's Court,
And liquid Realms, the Lakes in Caverns pent,
And sounding Groves, He goes, and wond'ring hears
The rumbling Billows; nor less wond'ring sees
The various Streams, which subterraneous glide
Thro' the vast Globe: Phasis, and Lycus' Source;
And the deep Bed from which Enipeus bursts;
And Father Tiberinus; and the Flood
Of Anio; and of Hypanis, that roars

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Among the Rocks; Caicus too; and great
Eridanus, bull-fac'd, with gilded Horns;
Than whom no River, thro' the fertil Fields,
Rushes more violent into the Sea.
Soon as He came into his Mother's Grot
Of hanging Pumice, and to Her reveal'd
The Cause of his Complaints; The Sisters, rang'd,
Pure Fountain-Water, and soft Towels bring;
Some load the Boards with Viands, and full Bowls
In order place: With rich Panchæan Sweets
The Altars burn. Then Thus Cyrene; Take
These Goblets of Mæonian Wine; From These
To Ocean let us pour Libations due.
Thus having spoke, Herself to Ocean prays,
Parent of Things; and to her Sister Nymphs,
Who o'er an hundred Groves, and Streams preside.
Thrice on the Fire she sprinkled limpid Wine;
Thrice to the Roof up-sprung the bright'ning Flame:
Encourag'd by which Omen, Thus she spoke.

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In the Carpathian Gulph there dwells a Seer,
Cerulean Proteus; who with two-legg'd Steeds,
In Harness join'd, and of the finny Race,
O'er the vast Main his bounding Chariot drives.
He to Emathia, and his Native Coast
Pallene now repairs: Him all We Nymphs,
And aged Nereus' self, regard with Awe:
For all things He, Past, Present, and To come,
Prophetick knows: Such is great Neptune's Will;
Whose monstrous Herds He feeds, beneath the Deep,
The unform'd Phocæ. Him, my Son, in Bonds
Thou must surprize; that All He may unfold,
The Cause, and Cure of This contagious Ill.
But without Force he Nothing will disclose;
Nor can Intreaties move him: Force, and Chains
Thou must apply, and captivate the God;
These will, at length, confound his baffled Wiles.
My self, when Sol in his Meridian burns,
When the Grass thirsts, and Cattle most enjoy
The cooling Shade, will bring thee to his Cave,
Whither the Senior from the Sea retires

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Fatigu'd; that, while he sleeping lies, with ease
Thou may'st invade him. But when round him clasp'd
Thy Arms, and Chains, shall hold him strait confin'd;
Then various Shapes of Beasts, illusive Forms,
Will cheat thy Sight: For sudden He'll appear
A horrid Tyger, and a bristly Boar,
A scaly Dragon, and a Lion fierce
Shaking his tawny Main; or roll like Fire
With dreadful Noise, and so escape thy Toyls;
Or, liquify'd to Water, glide away.
But still the more he shifts; the more, my Son,
Strain thou, and closer draw th'involving Net:
'Till such, rechang'd, he shall appear, as first
Thou saw'st him, when his Eyes in Slumber clos'd.

She said; and o'er her Son Ambrosial Oils
And liquid Sweets diffus'd: His fragrant Hair
Breaths rich Perfume; and Vigour to his Limbs
Is added. In a hollow Mountain's Side
Eaten with Age, there is a spacious Cave;
Whither much Sea, driv'n by the Wind, retires,
And cuts it self into a crooked Bay:
A Station apt for Sailors caught in Storms.
Here Proteus dwells, behind a massy Rock
Roll'd on the Cavern's Mouth: Cyrene Here

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Places the Youth secluded from the Light;
Herself, obscure in Clouds, aloof retires.

Now torrid Sirius from the Zenith scorch'd
The thirsty Indians; and the fiery Sun
Parch'd the mid Globe; The with'ring Herbage burn'd;
The fervid Rays the shallow Rivers dry'd,
And in their empty Chanels bak'd the Mud;
When Proteus, as accustom'd, from the Sea
To his known Grot repair'd: His humid Flocks,
The mighty Ocean's Offspring, round him play;
And from their Sides shake off the briny Dew:
The Phocæ, scatter'd, sleep along the Shore.
Himself (like One who on the Mountains tends
His Herd at Eve, when Vesper's Star recalls
The Bullocks Home from Feeding, and the Lambs
With Bleatings whet the Hunger of the Wolves)
Sits, in the Centre, on a Rock; and counts
Their Number. Aristæus, having gain'd
This wish'd Occasion, e'er the aged Sire

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Could quite compose his weary Limbs to Rest,
Swift rushes on him, with a mighty Shout;
And, as he slumbers, seizes him in Chains.
The Other, not unmindful of his Art,
Into all wond'rous Shapes himself transforms;
Grins horrible, and roars, a savage Beast;
Flows as a River's Stream; and rolls in Fire.
But when by no delusive Shifts, or Wiles,
He could escape, He to Himself return'd;
And Thus, at length, in human Accent spoke.
Say, who advis'd thee, most presumptuous Youth,
T'approach my Dwelling? Or What wouldst thou Here?
Then He; You know it, Proteus: You by None
Can be deceiv'd: O! would You not deceive!
Warn'd by the Gods I come; and here implore
Your Oracle, my Losses to repair.

He said; The Seer, at length, with mighty Force
Roll'd his green Eyes, that flash'd with darted Fires;
Fierce gnash'd his Teeth, and Thus disclos'd the Fates.

Thee some Immortal Pow'r with Wrath pursues;
Vengeance o'ertakes thy Crimes: This Punishment

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Orpheus, unhappy by no Guilt of His,
Procures for Thee, (a Penance more severe,
Did not the Fates oppose, Thou wouldst sustain;)
And sorely rages for his ravish'd Bride.
She, doom'd to Death, while, heedless, Thee she fled,
Along the River's side, before her Steps,
In the high Grass, saw not the monstrous Snake,

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Which unperceiv'd lay lurking on the Bank.
But all the beauteous Quire of Woodland Nymphs,
Her Fellows, fill'd with Shrieks the lofty Hills;
The Rhodopëian Mountains wept; and high
Pangæa's Rock; and Rhesus' Martial Land,
The Getæ, Hebrus, Actian Orithyia.
He, with his concave Shell his pining Love
Consol'd; and lonely, on the desart Shore,
Thee, sweet Eurydice, Thee still he sung,
Thee, at the Op'ning, Thee at Close of Day.
Ev'n thro' the Jaws of Tænarus he pass'd,
The subterranean Gates of Dis; and went
To the dark Grove where gloomy Horrour reigns,
The Manes, the tremendous King, and Souls
Indocile to relent at human Pray'rs.
Sooth'd by his Songs, from Erebus profound
Th'unbody'd Fantoms, and thin Spectres rose;
Unnumber'd, as the Birds which flock in Woods,
Driv'n from the Hills by Ev'ning, or a Storm:
Matrons, and Men, Souls of brave Heroes dead,
Boys, and unmarry'd Girls, and Youths consum'd
On Fun'ral Piles before their Parents' Eyes.
Whom the black Mud of thick Cocytus' Pool,
And it's unsightly Reeds, encompass round;
And Styx, unlovely Lake, with sluggish Waves
Hems in, and nine times interfus'd confines.
Ev'n Death's dread Realms, the deep Recess of Hell,
In silent Wonder listen'd to his Song;
And with blue curling Snakes the Furies wreath'd;

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Grim Cerb'rus, yawning, his three Mouths repress'd;
And with the Wind Ixion's Orb stood still.
And now Eurydice, all Dangers pass'd,
Returning, came restor'd to upper Life;
Following behind; For Proserpine had giv'n
That Law: When suddenly a Frenzy seiz'd
Th'unwary Lover; yet a venial Crime,
Could aught be venial, when the Manes judge:
He stood; and now, ev'n on the Verge of Light,
Ah! thoughtless, and by Force of mighty Love
O'erpower'd, on his Eurydice look'd back.
There all his Labour vanish'd into Air,
Unravell'd; Violated was the Law,
Which Hell's inexorable King impos'd:
And thrice amidst the Acherontic Waves
A Shout was heard. She; Who, my Orpheus, Who
Has Me unfortunate, and Thee undone?
What Fury This? Again the cruel Fates
Remand me back; Sleep seals my swimming Eyes;
And now Farewel: With Darkness round inclos'd
I fleet away; and vainly stretch to Thee
(Ah! now no longer Thine) These helpless Hands.
She said; and from his Sight, like Smoke dispers'd
Thro' the thin Air, flew diverse; Nor by Him,
Grasping at Shades in vain, and thousand Things
To say desiring, was e'er after seen:
Nor would the Ferryman of Hell permit

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That He again should pass the dreary Stream.
What should he do; his Love twice snatch'd away?
Or whither turn him? With what Tears, what Songs,
Should He attempt to move th'Infernal Pow'rs?
She, shiv'ring, in the Stygian Sculler sail'd:
He, sev'n whole Months, 'tis said, beneath a bleak
Aërial Cliff, on Strymon's desart Bank,
Wept lonesome; and in freezing Caves revolv'd
This mournful Tale; while crouding Oaks admir'd
His Lays, and Tygers soften'd at the Sound.

As when, complaining in melodious Groans,
Sweet Philomel, beneath a Poplar Shade,
Mourns her lost Young; which some rough Village-Hind
Observing, from their Nest, unfledg'd, has stole:
She weeps all Night; and, perch'd upon a Bough,
With plaintive Notes repeated fills the Grove.

No proffer'd Loves, no Hymeneal Vows
Could move his Soul: The Hyperborean Ice,
And snowy Tanais, and th'extended Fields
For ever rigid with Ripbæans Frost,
Alone He travell'd o'er; Eurydice

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Ravish'd away, and Pluto's frustrate Grant
Deploring. Which Contempt the Thracian Dames
With Rage resenting, tore the hapless Youth,
At Bacchus' Orgies, and nocturnal Rites;
And strew'd his mangled Carcass o'er the Plains.
Then too, his Head, from the fair Neck disjoin'd,
Oeagrian Hebrus in his gulphy Tide
Rolling along, Eurydice he call'd,
With his last Accents, and his cooling Tongue;
Ah! poor Eurydice, his flying Breath,
Eurydice, the Stream, and Banks resound.

Thus Proteus spoke: then plung'd into the Deep;
And curl'd the foaming Billows round his Head.

Not so Cyrene; She with healing Words
Consol'd the trembling Youth: 'Tis giv'n thee Now,
My Son, to banish these perplexing Cares.
Of Thy Disaster This is all the Cause.
The Nymphs, whose Dances in the secret Groves
Eurydice frequented, to thy Swarms
Have This deplorable Destruction sent:
Do Thou to Them, with due Oblations paid,
For Pardon sue, and supplicant adore
The easy Dryades: For They, invok'd,

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Will grant That Pardon, and remit their Rage.
But by what Means thou may'st appease them, first
I will unfold. Select four stately Steers
Of beauteous Form, which now thy Pastures graze
On green Lycæus' Top; and with them join
As many Heifers which ne'er felt the Yoke.
For These, four Altars, in the lofty Fanes,
Which to Those Nymphs are consecrated, build;
From the stab'd Victims pour the holy Blood,
And leave their Bodies in the shady Grove.
When the Ninth Morn first rises on the World;
To Orpheus solemn Fun'ral-Rites perform,
And send Lethæan Poppies to his Ghost;
Adore Eurydice with an Heifer slain,
And a black Ewe, her Manes to appease:
Then to the sacred Grove again repair.
Forthwith his Mother's Orders he obeys;
Comes to the Temples; as instructed, builds
The Altars; to them brings four stately Steers,
As many Heifers which ne'er felt the Yoke;
When the Ninth Morn first rises on the World,
To Orpheus solemn Fun'ral Rites performs;
And to the sacred Grove again repairs.
Here a surprizing Prodigy they see;
For (wondrous to relate!) o'er all the Corps,
And putrid Entrails of the Victims slain,
Innumerable Bees, with humming Sound,
Muster in Swarms, and burst the rotting Sides:
Then form long Clouds, which swim in Air; at length

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On the high Trees alight; and hang conglob'd,
In bellying Clusters, from the flexile Boughs.

Thus have I sung of Tillage, and of Trees,
And Culture apt for Cattle: While in Arms
Great Cæsar thunders near Euphrates' Stream;
Through all the willing World dispenses Laws,
Victorious; and affects the Way to Heav'n.
Me Virgil, at That time, the pleasing Soil
Of sweet Parthenope refresh'd with Ease;
Studious, and flourishing in silent Arts,
Inglorious; who in daring Youth the Lays
Of Shepherds play'd; and, Tityrus, thee sung
Beneath the Covert of the Beechen Shade.

The End of the Georgicks.