Then fields the blades of buried corn disclose; And, while the balmy western spirit blows; Earth to the breath her bosom dares expose. With kindly moisture then the plants abound; The grass securely springs above the ground; The tender twig shoots upward to the skies, And on the faith of the new sun relies. The swerving vines on the tall elms prevail : Unhurt by southern show'rs or northern hail, They spread their gems, the genial warmth to share,
And boldly trust their buds in open air. In this soft season (let me dare to sing) The world was hatch'd by heaven's imperial king-
In prime of all the year, and holy-days of spring.
Then did the new creation first appear; Nor other was the tenor of the year, When laughing heav'n did the great birth attend, And eastern winds their wintry breath suspend: Then sheep first saw the sun in open fields; And savage beasts were sent to stock the wilds; And golden stars flew up to light the skies; And man's relentless race from stony quarries rise.
Nor could the tender new creation bear Th' excessive heats or coldness of the year, But, chill'd by winter, or by summer fir'd, The mid lle temper of the spring requir'd, When warm and moisture did at once abound, And heaven's indulgence brooded on the ground. For what remains, in depth of earth secure Thy cover'd plants, and dung with hot manure; And shells and gravel in the ground enclose; For through their hollow chinks the water flows, Which, thus imbib'd, returns in misty dews, And, steaming up, the rising plant renews. Some husband nen, of late have found the way, A hilly heap of stones above to lay, And press the plants with shards of potter's clay. This fence against immod'rate rain they found, Or, when the Dog-star cleaves the thirsty ground. Be mindful, when thou hast entomb'd the shoot, With store of earth around to feed the root; With iron teeth of rakes and prongs, to move The crusted earth, and loosen it above. Then exercise thy sturdy steers to plough Betwixt thy vines, and teach the feeble row To mount on reeds, and wands, and, upward led, On ashen poles to raise their forky head. On these new crutches let them learn to walk, Till, swerving upwards with a stronger stalk, They brave the winds, and, clinging to their guide,
On tops of elms at length triumphant ride. But, in their tender nonage, while they spread Their springing leaves, and lift their infant head,
And upward while they shoot in open air, Indulge their childhood, and the nurslings spare; Nor exercise thy rage on new-born life: Nor let thy hand supply the pruning-knife, And crop luxuriant stragglers, nor be loth To strip the branches of their leafy growth. But, when the rooted vines, with steady hold, Can clasp their elms, then, husbandmen, be bold To lop the disobedient boughs, that staid Beyond their ranks; let crooked steel invade The lawless troops, which discipline disclaim, And their superfluous growth with rigour tame. Next, fenc'd with hedges and deep ditches round,
Exclude th' enroaching cattle from thy ground, While yet the tender gems but just appear, Unable to sustain th' uncertain year; Whose leaves are not alone foul winter's prey, But oft by summer suns are scorch'd away. And worse than both, become th' unworthy browse
Of buffaloes, salt goats, and hungry cows. For not December's frost that burns the boughs, Nor dog-days' parching heat that splits the rocks,
Are half so harmful as the greedy flocks, Their venom'd bite, and scars indented on the stocks.
For this, the malefactor goat was laid On Bacchus' altar, and his forfeit paid. At Athens thus old comedy began, When round the streets the reeling actors ran, In country villages, and crossing ways, Contending for the prizes of their plays; And, glad with Bacchus, on the grassy soil, Leap'd o'er the skins of goats besmear'd with oil. Thus Roman youth, deriv'd from ruin'd Troy, In rude Saturnian rhymes express their joy: With taunts, and laughter loud, their audience please,
Deform'd with vizards, cut from barks of trees: In jolly hymns they praise the god of wine, Whose earthen images adorn the pine, And there are hung on high, in honour of the vine.
A madness so devout the vineyard fills: In hollow valleys and on rising hills, On whate'er side he turns his honest face, And dances in the wind, those fields are in his grace.
To Bacchus therefore let us tune our lays, And in our mother tongue resound his praise. Thin cakes in chargers, and a guilty goat, Dragg'd by the horns, be to his altars brought: Whose offer'd entrails shall his crime re- proach,
And drip their fatness from the hazel broach. To dress thy vines, new labour is requir'd; Nor must the painful husbandman be tir'd:
For thrice at least, in compass of the year, Thy vineyard must employ the sturdy steer To turn the glebe, besides thy daily pain To break the clods, and make the surface plain,
T' unload the branches, or the leaves to thin, That suck the vital moisture of the vine. Thus in a circle runs the peasant's pain, And the year rolls within itself again.
E'en in the lowest months, when storms have shed
From vines the hairy honours of their head. Not then the grudging hind his labour ends, But to the coming year his care extends. E'en then the naked vine he persecutes; His pruning knife at once reforms and cuts. Be first to dig the ground: be first to burn The branches lopp'd; and first the props return Into thy house that bore the burden'd vines; But last to reap the vintage of thy wines. Twice in the year luxuriant leaves o'ershade The encumber'd vine; rough brambles twice invade :
Hard labour both!-Commend the large excess Of spacious vineyards; cultivate the less. Besides, in woods the shrubs of prickly thorn, Sallows and reeds on banks of rivers borne, Remain to cut-for vineyards useful found To stay thy vines, and fence thy fruitful ground. Nay, when thy tender trees at length are bound; [free: When peaceful vines from pruning-hooks are When husbands have survey'd the last degree, And utmost files of plants, and order'd ev'ry tree;
E'en when they sing at ease in full content Insulting o'er the toils they underwent, Yet still they find a future task remain, To turn the soil, and break the clods again: And, after all, their joys are insincere, While falling rains on ripening grapes they fear. Quite opposite to these are olives found: No dressing they require, and dread no wound, Nor rakes nor harrows need; but fix'd below Rejoice in open air, and unconcern'dly grow. The soil itself due nourishment supplies: Plough but the furrows, and the fruits arise, Content with small endeavours, till they spring, Soft peace they figure, and sweet plenty bring: Then olives plant, and hymns to Pallas sing.
Thus apple-trees, whose trunks are strong to bear
Wild shrubs are shorn for browse: the tow'ring height
of unctuous trees are torches for the night. And shall we doubt, (indulging easy sloth,) Το Sow, to set, and to reform their growth? To leave the lofty plants-the lowly kind Are for the shepherd or the sheep design'd, E'en humble broom and osiers have their use, And shade for sheep, and food for flocks pro- duce;
Hedges for corn, and honey for the bees, Besides the pleasing prospect of the trees. How goodly looks Cytrous, ever green With boxen groves! with what delight are
Tho' shent their leaves, and shatter'd are their arms,
Yet heav'n their various plants for use designs- For houses, cedars-and, for shipping, pines- Cypress provides for spokes and wheels of wains,
And all for keels of ships, that scour the wat'ry plains.
Willows in twigs are fruitful, elms in leaves; The war, from stubborn myrtle, shafts re- ceives-
From cornels, javelins; and the tougher yew Receives the bending figure of a bow.
Nor box, nor limes without their use are made, Smooth grain'd, and proper for the turner's trade:
Which curious hands may carve, and steel with ease invade.
Light alder stems the Po's impetuous tide, And bees in hollow oaks their honey hide. Now balance with these gifts, the fumy joys Of wine, attended with eternal noise. Wine urg'd to lawless lust the Centaurs' train: Thro' wine they quarrel'd, and thro' wine were slain.
O happy, if he knew his happy state, The swain, who, free from bus'ness and debate Receives his easy food from Nature's hand,
Their spreading boughs, exert themselves in air, And just returns of cultivated land! Want no supply, but stand secure alone, Not trusting foreign forces, but their own, Till with the ruddy freight the bending branches
Thus trees of nature, and each common bush, Uncultivated thrive, and with red berries blush.
No palace, with a lofty gate, he wants, T'admit the tides of early visitants, With cager eyes devouring as they pass, The breathing figures of Corinthian brass. No statues threaten, from high pedestals; No Persian arras hides his homely walls,
With antic vests, which, through their shady fold,
Betray the streaks of ill-dissembled gold: He boasts no wool, whose native white is dy'd With purple poison of Assyrian pride: No costly drugs of Araby defile, With foreign scents, the sweetness of his oil: But easy quiet, a secure retreat,
A harmless life that knows not how to cheat; With home-bred plenty, the rich owner bless; And rural pleasures crown his happiness. Unvex'd with quarrels, undisturb'd with noise, The country king his peaceful realm enjoys- Cool grots, and living lakes, the flow'ry pride Of meads, and streams that through the valley glide,
And shady groves that easy sleep invite, And, after toilsome days, a soft repose at night. Wild beasts of nature in his woods abound; And youth, of labour patient, plough the ground, Inur'd to hardship, and to homely fare Nor venerable age is wanting there, In great examples to the youthful train; Nor are the gods ador'd with rites profane. From hence Astræa took her flight; and here The prints of her departing steps appear.
Ye sacred Muses! with whose beauty fir'd, My soul is ravish'd, and my brain inspir'd— Whose priest I am, whose holy fillets wear- Would you your poet's first petition hear; Give me the ways of wand'ring stars to know, The depths of heav'n above, and earth below: Teach me the various labours of the moon, And whence proceed th' eclipses of the sun: Why flowing tides prevail upon the main, And in what dark recess they shrink again; What shakes the solid earth; what cause delays The summer nights, and shortens winter days. But, if my heavy blood restrain the flight Of my free soul, aspiring to the height Of nature, and unclouded fields of light- My next desire is, void of care and stife, To lead a soft, secure, inglorious life- A country cottage near a crystal flood, A winding valley, and a lofty wood. Some god conduct me to the sacred shades, Where Bacchanals are sung by Spartan maids, Or lift me high to Hamus' hilly crown, Or in the plains of Tempe lay me down, Or lead me to some solitary place, And cover my retreat from human race. Happy the man, who, studying Nature's laws,
Through known effects can trace the secret
His mind, possessing in a quiet state, Fearless of Fortune, and resign'd to Fate! And happy too is he, who decks the bow'rs Of Sylvans, and adores the rural pow'rs
Whose mind, unmov'd, the bribes of courts can
Their glitt'ring baits, and purple slavery— Nor hopes the people's praise, nor fears their frown,
Nor, when contending kindred tear the crown, Will set up one, or pull another down.
Without concern he hears, but hears from far, Of tumults, and descents, and distant war; Nor with a superstitious fear is aw'd, For what befalls at home, or what abroad. Nor envies he the rich their heapy store, Nor his own peace disturbs with pity for the
He feeds on fruits, which, of their own accord The willing ground and laden trees afford, From his lov'd home no lucre him can draw; The senate's mad decrees he never saw; Nor heard, at bawling bars, corrupted law. Some to the seas, and some to camps, resort, And some with impudence invade the court: In foreign countries, others seek renown; With wars and taxes, others waste their own, And houses burn, and household gods deface, To drink in bowls which glitt'ring gems enchase, To loll on couches, rich with citron steds, And lay their guilty limbs on Tyrian beds This wretch in earth entombs his golden ore, Hov'ring and brooding on his buried store. Some patriot fools to pop'lar praise aspire Of public speeches, which worse fools admire, While, from both benches, with redoubled sounds, Th' applause of lords and commoners abounds. Some, through ambition, or through thirst of gold, Have slain their brothers, or their country sold, And, leaving their sweet homes, in exile run To lands that lie beneath another sun.
The peasant, innocent of all these ills, With crooked ploughs the fertile fallow tills, And the round year with daily labour fills: And hence the country markets are supplied: Enough remains for houehold charge beside, His wife and tender children to sustain, And gratefully to feed his dumb deserving train. Nor cease his labours till the yellow field A full return of bearded harvest yield- A crop so plenteous, as the land to load, O'ercome the crowded barns, and lodge on ricks abroad.
Thus ev'ry several season is employ'd, Some spent in toil, and some in ease enjoy'd. The yeaning ewes prevent the springing year: The laded boughs their fruits in autumn bear: 'Tis then the vine her liquid harvest yields, Bak'd in the sunshine of ascending fields. The winter comes; and then the falling mast For greedy swine provides a full repast: Then olives, ground in mills, their fatness boast And winter fruits are mellow'd by the frost.
His cares are eas'd with intervals of bliss; His little children climbing for a kiss, Welcome their father's late return at night, His faithful bed is crown'd with chaste delight; His kine with swelling udders ready stand, And, lowing for the pail, invite the milker's hand. His wanton kids, with budding horns prepar'd Fight harmless battles in his homely yard: Himself, in rustic pomp, on holy-days, To rural pow'rs a just oblation pays, And on the green his careless limbs displays. The hearth is in the midst: the herdsmen round
The cheerful fire, provoke his health in goblets crown'd.
He calls on Bacchus, and propounds the prize: The groom his fellow groom at buts defies, And bends his bow, and levels with his eyes. Or, stript for wrestling, smears his limbs with oil,
And watches, with a trip, his foe to foil. Such was the life the frugal Sabines led So Remus and his brother god were bred, From whom th' austere Etrurian virtue rose; And this rude life our homely fathers chose. Old Rome from such a race deriv'd her birth, (The seat of empire, and the conquer'd earth) Which now on sev'n high hills triumphant reigns,
And in that compass all the world contains. Ere Saturn's rebel son usurp'd the skies, When beasts were only slain for sacrifice, While peaceful Crete enjoy'd her ancient lord, Ere sounding hammers forg'd th' inhuman sword, Ere hollow drums were beat, before the breath Of brazen trumpets rung the peals of death, The good old god his hunger did assuage With roots and herbs, and gave the golden age. But, over-labour'd with so long a course, 'Tis time to set at ease the smoking horse.
This book begins with the invocation of some rural deities, and a compliment to Augustus: after which Virgil directs himself to Mæcenas, and enters on his subject. He lays down rules for the breeding and management of horses, oxen, sheep, goats, and dogs; and interweaves several plea. sant descriptions of a chariot-race, of the battle of the bulls, of the force of love, and of the Scythian winter. In the latter part of the book, he relates the diseases incident to cattle: and ends with the
All other themes, that careless minds invite, Are worn with use, unworthy me to write. Busiris' altars, and the dire decrees Of hard Eurystheus ev'ry reader sees: Hylas the boy, Latona's erring isle, And Pelops' iv'ry shoulder, and his toil For fair Hippodame, with all the rest Of Grecian tales, by poets are express'd. New ways I must attempt, my grov'ling name To raise aloff, and wing my flight to fame.
I, first of Romans, shall in triumph come From conquer'd Greece, and bring her trophies home,
With foreign spoils adorn my native place, And with Idume's palms my Mantua grace. Of Parian stone a temple will I raise, Where the slow Mincius through the valley strays,
Where cooling streams invite the flocks to
And reeds defend the winding water's brink. Full in the midst shall mighty Cæsar stand, Hold the chief honours, and the dome command. Then I, conspicuous in my Tyrian gown, (Submitting to his godhead my renown) A hundred coursers from the goal will drive: The rival chariots in the race shall strive. All Greece shall flock from far, my games to see: The whorlbat, and the rapid race, shall be Reserv'd for Cæsar, and oruain'd by me. Myself, with olive crown'd, the gifts will bear. E'en now methinks the public shouts I hear, The passing pageants, and the potops appear. I to the temple will conduct the crew, The sacrifice, and sacrificers view, From thence return, attended with my train, Where the proud theatres disclose the scene, Which interwoven Britons seem to raise, And show the triumph which their shame dis- plays.
High o'er the gate, in elephant and gold, The crowd shall Cæsar's Indian war behold: The Nile shall flow beneath; and, on the side, His shatter'd ships on brazen pillars ride. Next him Niphates, with inverted urn, And dropping sedge, shall his Armenia mourn; And Asian cities in our triumph borne. With backward bows the Parthians shall be
And, spurring from the fight, confess their fear. A double wreath shall crown our Cæsar's brows
Two diff'rent trophies, from two diff"rent foes. description of a fatal murrain that formerly raged Europe with Afric in his fame shall join;
THY fields, propitious Pales, I rehearse; And sing thy pastures in no vulgar verse, Amphrysian shepherd! the Lycæan woods, Arcadia's flow'ry plains, and pleasing floods.
But neither shore his conquests shall confine. The Parian marble there shall seem to move In breathing statues, not unworthy Jove, Resembing heroes, whose ethereal root Is Jove himself, and Cæsar is the fruit.
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 Caesar combatted and overcome)
Shall give her hands, and fear the curling
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, Maecenas 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;
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,
Thy hounds, Tayg'tus, open, and pursue their To pass the bridge unknown, nor fear the tremb
High Epidaurus urges on my speed,
Fam'd for his hills, and for his horses' breed:
From hills and dales the cheerful cries re
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:
For Echo hunts along, and propagates the Faint white and dun will scarce the rearing pay.
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
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
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