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Those ways of planting Nature did ordain, For trees and shrubs, and all the sylvan reign. Others there are, by late experience found, Some cut the shoots, and plant in furrow'd ground;

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Some cover rooted stalks in deeper mould; Some, cloven-stakes; and (wondrous to behold!)

Their sharpen'd ends in earth their footing place;

And the dry poles produce a living race;
Some bow their vines, which buried in the plain;
Their tops in distant arches rise again.
Others no root require; the lab'rer cuts
Young slips, and in the soil securely puts.
Ev'n stumps of olives, bar'd of leaves, and dead,
Revive, and oft redeem their wither'd head.
'Tis usual now an inmate graff to see
With insolence invade a foreign tree:
Thus pears and quinces from the crabtree come;
And thus the ready cornel bears the plum.

Then let the learned gard'ner mark with care The kinds of stocks, and what those kinds will bear;

Explore the nature of each sev'ral tree,
And, known, improve with artful industry;
And let no spot of idle earth be found;
But cultivate the genius of the ground:
For open Ismarus will Bacchus please;
Taburnus loves the shade of olive-trees.

The virtues of the sev'ral soils I sing.-
Mecenas, now thy needful succour bring!
O thou, the better part of my renown,
Inspire thy poet, and thy poem crown:
Embark with me, while I new tracts explore,
With flying sails and breezes from the shore
Not that my song in such a scanty space,
So large a subject fully can embrace-
Not though I were supplied with iron lungs,
A hundred mouths, fill'd with as many tongues :
But steer my vessel with a steady hand,
And coast along the shore in sight of land.
Nor will I tire thy patience with a train
Of preface, or what ancient poets feign,
The trees which of themselves advance in air
Are barren kinds, but strongly built and fair,
Because the vigour of the native earth
Maintains the plant, and makes a manly birth.
Yet these, receiving grafts of other kind,
Or thence transplanted, change their savage
mind,

Their wildness lose, and, quitting nature's part,
Obey the rules and discipline of art.
The same do trees, that, sprung from barren
roots,

In open fields transplanted bear their fruits.
For, where they grow, the native energy,
Turns all into the substance of the tree,

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prey.

Much labour is requir'd in trees, to tame
Their wild disorder, and in ranks reclaim.
Well must the ground be digg'd, and better
dress'd,

New soil to make, and meliorate the rest.
Old stakes of olive trees in plants revive
By the same method Paphian myrtles live:
But nobler vines by propagation thrive.
From roots hard hazels, and from scions rise
Tall ash, and taller oak that mates the skies.
Palm, poplar, fir, descending from the steep
Of hills, to try the dangers of the deep.
The thin-leav'd arbute hazel-graffs receives,
And planes huge apples bear, that bore but
leaves.

Thus mastful beech the bristly chestnut bears,
And the wild ash is white with blooming pears.
And greedy swine from grafted elms are fed
With falling acorns, that on oaks are bred.

But various are the ways to change the state Of plants, to bud, to graff, t' inoculate. For, where the tender rinds of trees disclose Their shooting gems, a swelling knot there

grows :

Just in that space a narrow slit we make,
Then other buds from bearing trees we take
Inserted thus, the wounded rind we close,
In whose moist womb th' admitted infant grows
But, when the smoother bole from knots is free
We make a deep incision in the tree.
And in the solid wood the slip inclose;
The batt'ning bastard shoots again and grows
And in short space the laden boughs arise,
With happy fruit advancing to the skies.
The mother plant admires the leaves unknown
Of alien trees, and apples not her own.

Of vegetable woods are various kinds;
And the same species are of several minds.
Lotes, willows, elms, have different forms a
low'd:

So fun'ral cypress, rising like a shroud.
Fat olive trees of sundry sorts appear,
Of sundry shapes: their unctious berries bear,
Radii long olives, orchites round produce,
And bitter pausia, pounded for the juice.
Alcinous' orchard various apples bears:
Unlike are burgamots and pounder pears.
Nor our Italian vines produce the shape,
Or taste, or flavour of the Lesbian grape.
The Thasian vines in richer soils abound;
The Mareotic grow in barren ground.

The Psythian grape we dry: Lagean juice Will stamm'ring tongues and stagg'ring feet produce.

Rath ripe are some, and some of later kind,
Of golden some, and some of purple rind.,
How shall I praise the Rhotian grape divine,
Which yet contends not with Falernian wine?
Th' Arminian many a consulship survives,
And longer than the Lydian vintage lives,
Or high Phanaeus, king of Chian growth:
But, for large quantities and lasting both,
The less Argitis bears the prize away
The Rhodian, sacred to the solemn day,
In second services is pour'd to Jove,
And best accepted by the gods above.
Nor must Bumastus his old honours lose,
In length and largeness like the dugs of cows.
I pass the rest, whose ev'ry race, and name,
And kinds, are less material to my theme;
Which, who would learn, as soon may tell the
sands,

Driv'n by the western wind on Libyan lands;
Or number, when the blust'ring Eurus roars,
The billows beating on Ionian shores.

Nor ev'ry plant on ev'ry soil will grow :
The sallow loves the wat'ry ground and low;
The marshes, alders: Nature seems t' ordain
The rocky cliff for the wild ash's reign;
The baleful yew to northern blasts assigns,
To shores the myrtles, and to mounts the vines.
Regard the extremest cultivated coast,
From hot Arabia to the Scythian frost:
All sorts of trees their sev'ral countries know;
Black ebon only will in India grow,
And od❜rous frankincense on the Sabæan bough.
Balm slowly trickles thro' the bleeding veins
Of happy shrubs in Idumæan plains.
The green Egyptian thorn, for med'cine good,
With thiops' hoary trees and woolly wood,
Let others tell; and how the Seres spin
Their fleecy forests in a slender twine;
With mighty trunks of trees on Indian shores,
Whose height above the feather'd arrow soars,
Shot from the toughest bow, and, by the brawn
Of expert archers with vast vigour drawn.
Sharp tasted citrons Median climes produce,
(Bitter the rind, but gen'rons is the juice)
A cordial fruit, a present antidote
Against the direful stepdame's deadly draught,
Who, mixing wicked weeds with words impure,
The fate of envied orphans would procure.
Large is the plant, and like a laurel grows,
And, did it not a different scent disclose,
A laurel were: the fragrant flow'r contemn
The stormy wind, tenacious of their stem.
With this, the Medes to lab'ring age be-
queath

New lungs, and cure the sourness of the breath.

But neither Median woods, (a plenteous land) Fair Ganges, Hermus rolling golden sand, Nor Bactria, nor the richer Indian fields, Nor all the gummy stores Arabia yields, Nor any foreign earth of greater name, Can with sweet Italy contend in fame. No bulls, whose nostrils breathe a living flame, Have turn'd our turf; no teeth of serpents here Were sown, an arm'd host and iron crop to bear.

But fruitful vines, and the fat olive's freight, And harvests heavy with their fruitful weight, Adorn our fields; and on the cheerful green The grazing flocks and lowing herds are seen. The warrior horse, here bred, is taught to train: There flows Clitumnus through the flow'ry plain,

Whose waves, for triumphs after prosp'rous war,

The victim ox, and snowy sheep prepare. Perpetual spring our happy climate sees: Twice breed the cattle, and twice bear the

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Benacus, with tempestuous billows vex'd.
Or shall I praise thy ports, or mention make
Of the vast mound that binds the Lucrine lake?
Or the disdainful sea, that, shut from thence,
Roars round the structure, and invades the
fence.

There, where secure the Julian waters glide, Or where Avernus' jaws admit the Tyrrhene tide?

Our quarries deep in earth, were fam'd of old
For veins of silver, and for ore of gold.
Th' inhabitants themselves their country grace:
Hence rose the Marsian and Sabellian race,
Strong limb'd and stout, and to the wars in-

clin'd,

And hard Ligurians, a laborious kind,
And Volscians arm'd with iron-headed darts
Besides-an offspring of undaunted hearts---
The Decii, Marii, great Camillus, came
From hence, and greater Scipio's double namie,

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And mighty Cæsar, whose victorious arms
To farthest Asia carry fierce alarms,
Avert unwarlike Indians from his Rome,
Triumph abroad, secure our peace at home.
Hail, sweet Saturnian soil! of fruitful grain
Great parent, greater of illustrious men!
For thee my tuneful accents will I raise,
And treat of arts disclos'd in ancient days,
Once more unlock for thee the sacred spring,
And old Ascræan verse in Roman cities sing.
The nature of the sev'ral soils now see
Their strength, their colour, their fertility:
And first for heath, and barren hilly ground,
Where meagre clay and flinty stones abound,
Where the poor soil all succour seems to

want

Yet this suffices the Palladian plant.
Undoubted signs of such a soil are found;
For here wild olive-shoots o'erspread the
ground,

And heaps of berries strew the fields around. But, where the soil, with fatt'ning moisture fill'd,

Is cloth'd with grass, and fruitful to be till'd,
Such as in cheerful vales we view from high,
Which dripping rocks with rolling streams
supply,

And feed with ooze; where rising hillocks run
In length, and open to the southern sun;
Where fern succeeds, ungrateful to the plough-
That gentle ground to gen'rous grapes allow.
Strong stocks of vines it will in time produce,
And overflow the vats with friendly juice,
Such as our priests in golden goblets pour
To gods, the givers of the cheerful hour,
Then when the bloated Tuscan blows his horn,
And reeking entrails are in chargers borne.

If herds or fleecy flocks be more thy care,
Or goats that graze the field, and burn it bare,
Then seek Tarentum's lawns,and furthest coast,
Or such a field as hapless Mantua lost,
Where silver swans sail down the wat'ry road,
And graze the floating herbage of the flood.
There crystal streams perpetual tenor keep,
Nor food nor springs are wanting to thy sheep;
For, what the day devours, the nightly dew
Shall to the morn in pearly drops renew.
Fat crumbling earth is fitter for the plough,
Putrid and loose above, and black below;
For ploughing is an imitative toil,
Resembling nature in an easy soil.
No land for seed like this; no fields afford
So large an income to the village lord:
No toilings teams from harvest-labour come
So late at night, so heavy-laden home.
The like of forest land is understood, [wood,
From whence the surly ploughman grubs the
Which had for length of ages idle stood.
VOL. II.-3

Then birds forsake the ruins of their seat, And, flying from their nests, their callow young forget.

The coarse lean gravel, on the mountain-sides,
Scarce dewy bev'rage for the bees provides;
Nor chalk nor crumbling stones, the food of
snakes,

That work in hollow earth their winding tracks,
The soil exhaling clouds of subtle dews,
Imbibing moisture which with ease she spews,
Which rusts not iron, and whose mould is clean,
Well cloth'd with cheerfui grass, and ever groen,
Is good for olives, and aspiring vines,
Embracing husband-elms in am'rous twines;
Is fit for feeding cattle, fit to sow,

And equal to the pasture and the plough.
Such is the soil of fat Campanian fields;
Such large increase the land that joins Vesuvius
yields;

And such a country could Acerro boast,
Till Clanius overflow'd the unhappy coast.

I teach thee next the diff'ring soils to know,
The light for vines, the heavier for the plough.
Choose first a place for such a purpose fit:
There dig the solid earth and sink a pit ;
Next fill the hole with its own earth again,
And trample with thy feet and tread it in:
Then, if it rise not to the former height
Of superfice, conclude that soil is light,
A proper ground for pasturage and vines.
But, if the sullen earth, so press'd, repines
Within its native mansion to retire,
And stays without, a heap of heavy mire,
'Tis good for arable, a glebe that asks
Tough teams of oxen, and laborious tasks,

Salt earth and bitter are not fit to sow, Nor will be tam'd and mended by the plough. Sweet grapes degen'rate there; and fruits, declin'd (kind From their first flav'rous taste, renounce their This truth by sure experiment is tried: For first an osier colander provide

Of twigs thick wrought (such toiling peasants twine,

When thro' straight passages they strain their wine :)

In this close vessel place that earth accurs'd,
But fill'd brinful with wholesome water first;
Then run it through: the drops will rope around,
And, by the bitter taste, disclose the ground.
The fatter earth by handling we may find,
With ease distinguish'd from the meagre kind
Poor soil will crumble into dust; the rich
Will to the fingers cleave like clammy pitch:
Moist earth produces corn and grass, but both
Too rank and too luxuriant in their growth.
Let not my land so large a promise boast,
Lest the rank ears in length of stem be lost.

The heavier earth is by her weight betray'd.
The lighter in the poising hand is weigh'd.
'Tis easy to distinguish by the sight
The colour of the soil, and black from white.
But the cold ground is difficult to know;

Yet this the plants, that prosper there, will .show

Black ivy, pitch-trees, and the baleful yew.
These rules consider'd well, with early care
The vineyard destin'd for thy vines prepare:
But, long before the planting, dig the ground,
With furrows deep that cast a rising mound.
The clods, expos'd to winter winds, will bake;
For putrid earth will best the vineyards take;
And hoary frosts, after the painful toil
Of delving hinds, will rot the mellow soil.

Some peasants, not t' omit the nicest care,
Of the same soil their nursery prepare,
With that of their plantation; lest the tree,
Translated, should not with the soil agree.
Beside, to plant it as it was, they mark
The heav'ns four quarters on the tender bark,
And to the north or south restore the side,
Which at their birth did heat or cold abide :
So strong is custom; such effects can use
In tender souls of pliant plants produce.
Choose next a province for thy vineyard's
reign,

Un hills above, or in the lowly płaín.
If fertile fields or valleys be thy choice
Plant thick for bounteous Bacchus will rejoice
In close plantations there: but if the vine
On rising ground be plac'd, or hills supine,
Extend thy loose battalions largely wide,
Op'ning thy ranks and files on either side,
But marshall'd all in order as they stand;
And let no soldier straggle from his band.
As legions in the field their front display
To try the fortune of some doubtful day,
And move to meet their foes with sober pace,
Strict to their figure, though in wider space,
Before the battle joins, while from afar
The field yet glitters with the pomp of war,
And equal Mars, like an impartial lord,
Leaves all to fortune, and the dint of sword-
So let thy vines in intervals be set,
But not their rural discipline forget:
Indulge their width, and add a roomy space,
That their extremest lines may scarce embrace :
Nor this alone to indulge a vain delight,
And make a pleasing prospect for the sight;
But, for the ground itself, this only way,
Can equal vigour to the plants convey,
Which, crowded, want the rootn, their branches
to display.

How deep they must be planted, wouldst thou
know?

In shallow furrows vines securely grow.

Not so the rest of plants; for Jove's own. tree,

That holds the woods in awful sov'reignty,
Requires a depth of lodging in the ground,
And, next the lower skies, a bed profound:
High as his topmost boughs to heav'n ascend,
So low his roots to hell's dominions tend.
Therefore, nor winds, nor winter's range o'er-
throws

His bulky body; but unmov'd he grows :
For length of ages lasts his happy reign;
And lives of mortal man contend in vain.
Full in the midst of his own strength he stands,
Stretching his brawny arms, and leafy hands;
His shade protects the plains; his head the
hills commands.

The hurtful hazel in thy vineyard shun;
Nor plant it to receive the setting sun;
Nor break the topmost branches from the tree;
Nor prune, with blunted knife, the progeny.
Root up wild olives from thy labour'd lands;
For sparkling fire, from hind's unwary hands,
Is often scatter'd o'er their unctuous rinds,
And after spread abroad by raging winds:
For first the smould'ring flame the trunk re
ceives;

Ascending thence, it crackles in the leaves;
At length victorious to the top aspires
Involving all the wood in smoky fires;
But most, when driven by winds, the flaming

storm.

Of the long fires destroys the beauteous form.
In ashes then th' unhappy vineyard lies:
Nor will the blasted plants from ruin rise;
Nor will the wither'd stock be green again;
But the wild olive shoots, and shades th' un-
grateful plain.

Be not seduc'd with wisdom's empty shows,
To stir the peaceful ground when Boreas blows.
When winter frosts constrain the field with cold,
The fainty root can take no steady hold.

But, when the golden spring reveals the year, And the white bird returns, whom serpents fear,

That season deem the best to plant thy vines:
Next that, is when autumnal warmth declines,
Ere heat is quite decay'd or cold begun,
Or Capricorn admits the winter sun.

The spring adorns the woods, renews the leaves :

The womb of earth the genial seed receives:
For then Almighty Jove descends, and pours
Into his buxom bride his fruitful show'rs;
And, mixing his large limbs with hers, he feeds
Her births with kindly juice, and fosters teeming

seeds.

Then joyous birds frequent the lonely grove, And beasts, by nature stung, renew their love.

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,.
Bat, chill'd by winter, or by summer fir'd,
The middle temper of the spring requir'd,
When warmth 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 clms 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 wnate'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

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