Tros and his race the sculptor shall employ;
And he the god who built the walls of Troy.
Envy herself at last, grown pale and dumb,
(By Cæsar combatted and overcome)

Shall give her hands, and fear the curling

snakes

Of lashing Furies, and the burning lakes ;
The pains of famish'd Tantalus shall feel,
And Sisyphus that labours up the hill

The rolling rock in vain; and curst Ixion's wheel.

Meantime we must pursue the sylvan lands, (Th' abode of nymphs) untouch'd by former hands:

For such, Mæcenas are thy hard commands,
Without thee, nothing lofty can I sing.
Come then, and with thyself, thy genius bring,
With which inspir'd, I brook no dull delay:
Citharon loudly calls me to my way;

Thy hounds, Tayg'tus, open, and pursue their prey.

High Epidaurus urges on my speed,

Fam'd for his hills, and for his horses' breed: From hills and dales the cheerful cries rebound;

Watch the quick motions of the frisking tail; Then serve their fury with the rushing male, Indulging pleasure lest the breed should fail.

In youth alone, unhappy mortals live; But, ah! the mighty bliss is fugitive: Discolour'd sickness, anxious labour, come, And age, and death's inexorable doom.

Yearly thy herds in vigour will impair, Recruit and mend them with thy yearly care Still propagate; for still they fall away: 'Tis prudence to prevent th' entire decay. Like diligence requires the courser's race, In early choice, and for a longer space. The colt, that for a stallion is design'd, By sure presages shows his gen'rous kind: Of able body, sound of limb and wind; Upright he walks, on pasterns firm and straight; His motions easy; prancing in his gait; The first to lead the way, to tempt the flood, To pass the bridge unknown, nor fear the trembting wood;

Dauntless at empty noises; lofty neck'd; Shrp-headed, barrel-bellied, broadly back'd ; Brawny his chest, and deep; his colour gray; For beauty, dappled, or the brightest bay:

sound.

A time will come, when my maturer muse, In Cæsar's wars, a nobler theme shall choose, And through more ages bear my sovereign's praise,

Than have from Tithon past to Cæsar's days. The gen'rous youth, who studious of the prize,

The race of running coursers multiplies,
Or to the plough the sturdy bullock breeds,
May know that from the dam the worth of each
proceeds.

The mother-cow must wear a lowr'ing look,
Sour-headed, strongly neck'd, to bear the yoke.
Her double dew-lap from her chin descends,
And at her knees the pond'rous burden ends.
Long are her sides and large; her limbs are
great;

Rough are her ears, and broad her horny feet.
Her colour shining black, but fleck'd with white;
She tosses from the yoke; provokes the fight;
She rises in her gait, is free from fears,
And in her face a bull's resemblance bears:
Her ample forehead with a star is crown'd;
And with her length of tail she sweeps the

ground.

The bull's insult at four she may sustain;
But, after ten, from nuptial rites refrain.
Six seasons use,
but then release the cow,
Unfit for love, and for the lab'ring plough.
Now while their youth is fill'd with kindly

fire,
Submit thy females to the lusty sire:

The fiery courser when he hears from far
The sprightly trumpets, and the shouts of war,
Pricks up his ears; and, trembling with delight,
Shifts place, and paws, and hopes the promis'd
fight.

On his right shoulder his thick mane reclin'd,
Ruffles at speed, and dances in the wind.
His horny hoofs are jetty black and round;
His chine is double; starting with a bound
He turns the turf, and shakes the solid ground.
Fire from his eyes, clouds from his nostrils flow:
He bears his rider headlong on the foe.

Such was the steed in Grecian poets fam'd,
Proud Cyllarus, by Spartan Pollux tam'd:
Such coursers bore to fight the god of Thrace;
And such, Achilles, was thy warlike race.
In such a shape, grim Saturn did restrain
His heav'nly limbs, and flow'd with a such mane,
When, half surpris'd, and fearing to be seen,
The lecher gallop'd from his jealous queen,
Ran up the ridges of the rocks amain,
And with shrill neighings fill'd the neighb❜ring
plain.

But, worn with years, when dire diseases

come,

Then hide his not ignoble age at home,
In peace t' enjoy his former palms and pains;
And gratefully be kind to his remains.
For, when his blood no youthful spirits move,
He languishes and labours in his love;
And, when the sprightly seed should swiftly

come,

Dribbling he drudges, and defrauds the womb.

Early begin the stubborn child to break;
For his soft neck, a supple collar make
Of bending osiers; and (with time and care
Inur'd that easy servitude to bear)

Thy flatt'ring method on the youth pursue :
Join'd with his school-fellows by two and two,
Persuade them first to lead an empty wheel,
That scarce the dust can raise, or they can feel :
In length of time produce the lab'ring yoke,
And shining shares, that make the furrow
smoke.

Ere the licentious youth be thus restrain❜d,
Or moral precepts on their minds have gain'd,
Their wanton appetites not only feed
With delicates of leaves, and marshy weed,
But with thy sickle reap the rankest land,
And minister the blade with bounteous hand:
Nor be with harmful parsimony won

To follow what our homely sires have done,
Who fill'd the pail with beastings of the cow;
But all her udder to the calf allow.

If to the warlike steed thy studies bend,
Or for the prize in chariots to contend,
Near Pisa's flood the rapid wheels to guide,
Or in Olympian groves aloft to ride,
The gen'rous labours of the coursers, first,
Must be with sight of arms and sound of
trumpets nurs'd;

Inur'd the groaning axle-tree to bear;
And let him clashing whips in stables hear.
Soothe him with praise, and make him under-
stand

The loud applauses of his master's hand:
This, from his weaning, let him well be taught ;
And then betimes, in a soft snaffle wrought,
Before his tender joints with nerves are knit,
Untried in arms, and trembling at the bit.
But when to four full springs his years ad-

vance,

Teach him to run the round, with pride to prance,
And (rightly manag'd) equal time to beat,
To turn, to bound and measure, and curvet.
Let him to this, with easy pains, be brought,
And seem to labour, when he labours not.
Thus form'd for speed, he challenges the wind,
And leaves the Scythian arrow far behind:
He scours along the field, with loosen'd reins,
And treads so light, he scarcely prints the
plains;

Like Boreas in his race, when rushing forth,
He sweeps the skies, and clears the cloudy north,
The waving harvest bends beneath his blast;
The forest shakes; the groves their honours
cast;

He flies aloft, and with impetuous roar
Pursues the foaming surges to the shore.
Thus o'er th' Elean plains, thy well-breath'd
horse

Impels the flying car, and wins the course,

Or bred to Belgian wagons, leads the way, Untir'd at night, and cheerful all the day.

When once he's broken, feed him full and
high;
Indulge his growth, and his gaunt sides supply.
Before his training, keep him poor and low;
For his stout stomach with his food will grow :
The pamper'd colt will discipline disdain,
Impatient of the lash, and restiff to the reign.
Wouldst thou their courage and their strength
improve?

Too soon they must not feel the stings of love.
Whether the bull or courser be thy care,
Let him not leap the cow, or mount the mare.
The youthful bull must wander in the wood,
Behind the mountain or beyond the flood,
Or in the stall at home his fodder find,
Far from the charms of that alluring kind.
With two fair eyes his mistress burns his breast.
He looks, and languishes, and leaves his rest,
Forsakes his food, and pining for the lass,
Is joyless of the grove, and spurns the growing
grass.

The soft seducer, with enticing looks,
The bellowing rivals to the fight provokes.

A beauteous heifer in the wood is bred:
The stooping warriors aiming head to head,
Engage their clashing horns: with dreadful
sound

The forest rattles, and the rocks rebound. They fence, they push, and, pushing, loudly

roar:

Their dew-laps and their sides are bath'd in gore.

Nor, when the war is over, is it peace;
Nor will the vanquish'd bull his claim release;
But feeding in his breast his ancient fires,
And cursing fate, from his proud foe retires.
Driv'n from his native land to foreign grounds,
He with a gen'rous rage resents his wounds,
His ignominious flight, the victor's boast,
And more than both, the loves, which unreveng'd
he lost.

Often he turns his eyes, and with a groan,
Surveys the pleasing kingdoms, once his own;
And therefore to repair his strength he tries,
Hard'ning his limbs with painful exercise ;
And rough upon the flinty rock he lies.
On prickly leaves and on sharp herbs he feeds,
Then to the prelude of a war proceeds.
His horns, yet sore, he tries against a tree,
And meditates his absent enemy.

He snuffs the wind; his heels the sand excite;
But, when he stands collected in his might,
He roars and promises a more successful fight.
Then, to redeem his honour at a blow,
He moves his camp, to meet his careless foe.
Not with more madness, rolling from afar,
The spumy waves proclaim the wat❜ry war,

And mounting upwards, with a mighty roar,
March onwards, and insult the rocky shore.
They mate the middle region with their height,
And fall no less than with a mountain's weight;
The waters boil, and, belching, from below
Black sands, as from a forceful engine throw.
Thus ev'ry creature, and of ev'ry kind,
The secret joys of sweet coition find.
Not only man's imperial race, but they
That wing the liquid air, or swim the sea,
Or haunt the desert, rush into the flame:
For love is lord of all, and is in all the same.
'Tis with this rage, the mother-lion stung,
Scours o'er the plain, regardless of her young:
Demanding rites of love, she sternly stalks,
And hunts her lover in his lonely walks.
'Tis then the shapeless bear his den forsakes;
In woods, and fields, a wild destruction makes;
Boars whet their tusks; to battle tigers move,
Enrag'd with hunger, more enrag'd with love.
Then wo to him, that, in the desert land
Of Libya, travels o'er the burning sand!
The stallion snuffs the well known scent afar,
And snorts and trembles for the distant mare:
Nor bits nor bridles can his rage restrain;
And rugged rocks are interpos'd in vain :
He makes his way o'er mountains, and con-

temps

Unruly torrents, and unforded streams.

The bristled boar, who feels the pleasing wound, New grinds his armed tusks, and digs the ground.

The sleepy lecher shuts his little eyes;
About his churning chaps the frothy bubbles
rise :

He rubs his sides against a tree; prepares
And hardens both his shoulders for the wars.
What did the youth, when Love's unerring dart
Transfix'd his liver, and inflam'd his heart?
Alone, by night, his watery way he took :
About him, and above, the billows broke :
The sluices of the sky were open spread;
And rolling thunder rattled o'er his head.
The raging tempest call'd him back in vain,
And ev'ry boding omen of the main :
Nor could his kindred, nor the kindly force
Of weeping parents, change his fatal course;
No, not the dying maid, who must deplore
His floating carcass on the Sestian shore.

I pass the wars that spotted lynxes make With their fierce rivals for the female's sake, The howling wolves', the mastiffs' am'rous rage;

When e'en the fearful stag dares for his hind engage.

But, far above the rest, the furious mare, Barr'd from the male, is frantic with despair: For, when her pouting vent declares her pain, She tears the harness, and she rends the rein.

For this, (when Venus gave them rage and pow'r)

Their master's mangled members they devour,
Of love defrauded in their longing hour.
For love, they force through thickets of the
wood,

They climb the steepy hills, and stem the flood.
When, at the spring's approach, their marrow

burns,

(For with the spring their genial warmth returns) The mares to cliffs of rugged rocks repair, And with wide nostrils snuff the western air: When (wondrous to relate) the parent wind, Without the stallion propagates the kind. Then, fir'd with am'rous rage, they take their flight

Thro' plains, and mount the hills' unequal height;

Nor to the north, nor to the rising sun,
Nor southward to the rainy regions, run,
But boring to the west, and hov'ring there,
With gaping mouths they draw prolific air,
With which impregnate, from their groins they
shed,

A slimy juice, by false conception bred.
The shepherd knows it well, and calls by

But time is lost, which never will renew,
While we too far the pleasing path pursue,
Surveying nature with too nice a view.
Let this suffice for herds: our following care
Shall woolly flocks and shaggy goats declare.
Nor can I doubt what toil I must bestow,
To raise my subject from a ground so low;
And the mean matter which my theme affords,
T' embellish with magnificence of words.
But the commanding muse my chariot guides,
Which o'er the dubious cliff securely rides :
And pleas'd I am, no beaten road to take,
But first the way to new discov'ries make.
Now, sacred Pales, in a lofty strain

I sing the rural honours of thy reign.
First, with assiduous care, from winter keep,
Well-fodder'd in the stalls, thy tender sheep:
Then spread with straw the bedding of thy
fold,

With fern beneath, to 'fend the bitter cold:
That free from gouts thou may'st preserve thy

care,

And clear from scabs, produc'd by freezing air.
Next let thy goats officiously be nurs'd,
And led to living streams, to quench their thirst,

Feed them with winter-browse; and, for their lair,

A cote, that opens to the south, prepare; Where basking in the sunshine they may lie, And the short remnants of his heat enjoy. This during winter's drizzly reign be done, Till the new Ram receives the exalted sun: For hairy goats of equal profit are

With woolly sheep, and ask an equal care.
'T is true, the fleece, when drunk with Tyrian
juice,

Is dearly sold: but not for needful use:
For the salacious goat increases more,
And twice as largely yields her milky store.
The still distended udders never fail,
But, when they seem exhausted, swell the pail.
Meantime the pastor shears their hoary beards,
And eases of their hair the loaden herds.
Their cam'lots, warm in tents, the soldier hold,
And shield the shiv'ring mariner from cold.

On shrubs they browse, and, on the bleaky top Of rugged hills, the thorny bramble crop. Attended with their bleating kids, they come At night, unask'd, and mindful of their home; And scarce their swelling bags the threshold

overcome.

So much the more thy diligence bestow
In depth of winter to defend the snow,
By how much less the tender helpless kind,
For their own ills, can fit provision find.
Then minister the browse with bounteous
hand;

And open let thy stacks all winter stand.
But, when the western winds with vital pow'r
Call forth the tender grass and budding flow'r,
Then, at the last, produce in open air

Both flocks; and send them to their summer fare.

Before the sun while Hesperus appears,
First let them sip from herbs the pearly tears
Of morning dews, and after break their fast
On green-sward ground-a cool and grateful

taste.

But, when the day's fourth hour has drawn the dews,

And the sun's sultry heat their thirst renews; When creaking grasshoppers on shrubs complain,

Then lead them to their watering-troughs again.
In summer's heat, some bending valley find,
Clos'd from the sun, but open to the wind;
Or seek some ancient oak, whose arms extend
In ample breadth, thy cattle to defend,
Or solitary grove, or gloomy glade,
To shield them with its venerable shade.
Once more to wat'ring lead; and feed again
When the low sun is sinking to the main,
When rising Cynthia sheds her silver dews,
And the cool evening-breeze the meads renews,

Their scatter'd cottages, and ample plains,
Where oft the flocks without a leader stray,
Or through continu'd deserts take their way,
And, feeding, add the length of night to day?
Whole months they wander, grazing as they
go;

Nor folds, nor hospitable harbour know.
Such an extent of plains, so vast a space
Of wilds unknown, and of untasted grass,
Allures their eyes; the shepherd last appears,
And with him all his patrimony bears,
His house and household gods, his trade of

war,

His bow and quiver, and his trusty cur.
Thus, under heavy arms, the youth of Rome
Their long laborious marches overcome,
Cheerly their tedious travels undergo,
And pitch their sudden camp before the foe.

Not so the Scythian shepherd tends his fold, Nor he who bears in Thrace the bitter cold, Nor he who treads the bleak Maotian strand, Or where proud Ister rolls his yellow sand. Early they stall their flocks and herds; for there No grass the fields, no leaves the forests,

wear;

The frozen earth lies buried there, below
A hilly heap, sev'n cubits deep in snow:
And all west allies of stormy Boreas blow.
The sun from far peeps with a sickly face,
Too weak, the clouds and mighty fogs to chase,
When up the skies he shoots his rosy head,
Or in the ruddy ocean seeks his bed.
Swift rivers are with sudden ice constrain'd
And studded wheels are on its back sustain'd,
A hostry now for wagons, which before
Tall ships of burden on its bosom bore.
The brazen caldrons with the frosts are flaw'd;
The garments, stiff with ice, at hearths is
thaw'd.

With axes first they cleave the vine; and thence,

By weight, the solid portions they dispense. From locks uncomb'd, and from the frozen