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

Their spreading boughs, exert themselves in air,
Want no supply, but stand secure alone,
Not trusting foreign forces, but their own,
Till with the ruddy freight the bending branches
groan.

Thus trees of nature, and each common bush, Uncultivated thrive, and with red berries blush.

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,)
To 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

seen

Narycian woods of pitch, whose gloomy shade Seems for retreat of heav'nly Muses made! But much more pleasing are those fields to see, That need not ploughs, nor human industry. E'en cold Caucasian rocks with trees are spread,

And wear green forests on their hilly head. Though bending from the blast of eastern

storms,

Tho' shent their leaves, and shatter'd are their

arms,

Yet heav'n their various plants for use designsFor houses, cedars-and, for shipping, pinesCypress 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 receives

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,
And just returns of cultivated land!
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,

Trollope,
Troubles
Troy-Boo
True-Bor
True P
Ou
True
A

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

cause

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

29.

Whose mind, unmov'd, the bribes of courts can

see,

Their glitt'ring baits, and purple slaveryNor 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

poor.

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'd 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.

GEORGIC III. ARGUMENT.

This book begins with the invocation of some rural deities, and a compliment to Augustus: after which Virgil directs himself to Mæcenas, and en ters 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 description of a fatal murrain that formerly raged among the Alps.

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.

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 aloft, 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 drink,

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 poips 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

there,

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.
Europe with Afric in his fame shall join;

But neither shore his conquests shall confine.
The Parian marble there shall seem to move
In breathing statues, not unworthy Jove,
Resembling heroes, whose ethereal root
Is Jove himself, and Cesar 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 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, 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;

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;

For Echo hunts along, and propagates the sound.

A time will come, when my maturer muse, In Caesar'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:

Watch the quick motions of the frisking tail; Then serve their fury with the rushing inale, 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 tremb
ling 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:
Faint white and dun will scarce the rearing pay.
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

In vain he burns, like hasty stubble fires,
And in himself, his former self requires.
His age and courage weigh; nor those alone;
But note his father's virtues and his own:
Observe, if he disdains to yield the prize,
Of loss impatient, proud of victories.

Hast thou beheld, when from the goal they
start,

The youthful charioteers with heaving heart
Rush to the race; and panting, scarcely bear
Th' extremes of fev'rish hope and chilling fear;
Stoop to the reins, and lash with all their force?
The flying chariot kindles in the course:
And now alow, and now aloft they fly,
As borne through air, and seem to touch the sky.
No stop, no stay: but clouds of sand arise,
Spurn'd, and cast backward on the followers'

eyes.

The hindmost blows the foam upon the first:
Such is the love of praise, an honourable thirst.
Bold Ericthonius was the first who join'd
Four horses for the rapid race design'd,
And o'er the dusty wheels presiding sate:
The Lapitha, to chariots, add the state
Of bits and bridles; taught the steed to bound,
To run the ring, and trace the mazy round;
To stop, to fly, the rules of war to know;
T' obey the rider, and to dare the foe.

To choose a youthful steed with courage fir'd, To breed him, break him, back him, are requir'd

Experienc'd masters; and in sundry ways, Their labours equal, and alike their praise. But, once again, the batter'd horse beware: The weak old stallion will deceive thy care, Though famous in his youth for force and speed, Or was of Argos or Epirian breed,

Or did from Neptune's race, or from himself proceed.

These things premis'd, when now the nuptial time

Approaches for the stately steed to climb,
With food enable him to make his court;
Distend his chine, and pamper him for sport:
Feed him with herbs, whatever thou canst find,
Of gen'rous warmth, and of salacious kind:
Then water him, and (drinking what he can)
Encourage him to thirst again, with bran.
Instructed thus, produce him to the fair,
And join in wedlock to the longing mare.
For, if the sire be faint, or out of case,
He will be copied in his famish'd race,
And sink beneath the pleasing task assign'd
(For all's too little for the craving kind.)
As for the females, with industrious care
Take down their mettle; keep them lean and
bare:

When conscious of their past delight, and keen
To take the leap, and prove the sport again,

With scanty measure then supply their food;
And, when athirst, restrain them from the flood:
Their bodies harass; sink them when they run;
And fry their melting marrow in the sun.
Starve them, when barns beneath their burden
groan,

And winnow'd chaff by western winds is blown:
For fear the rankness of the swelling womb
Should scant the passage, and confine the room;
Lest the fat furrows should the sense destroy
Of genial lust, and dull the seat of joy.
But let them suck the seed with greedy force,
And close involve the vigour of the horse.

The male has done: thy care must now

proceed

To teeming females, and the promis'd breed. First let them run at large, and never know The taming yoke, or draw the crooked plough. Let them not leap the ditch, or swim the flood, Or lumber o'er the meads, or cross the wood; But range the forest, by the silver side

Of some cool stream, where Nature shall provide

Green grass, and fatt'ning clover for their fare, And mossy caverns for their noontide lair, With rocks above, to shield the sharp nocturnal air.

About th' Alburnian groves, with holly green, Of winged insects, mighty swarms are seen: This flying plague (to mark its quality) Estros the Grecians call-Asylus, weA fierce loud buzzing breeze.-Their stings draw blood,

And drive the cattle gadding through the wood.
Seiz'd with unusual pairs, they loudly cry:
Tanagrus hastens thence, and leaves his chan-
nel dry.

This curse the jealous Juno did invent,
And first employ'd for Iō's punishment.
To shun this ill, the cunning leach ordains,
In summer's sultry heats (for then it reigns,)
To feed the females ere the sun arise,
Or late at night, when stars adorn the skies.
When she has calv'd, then set the dam asid:
And for the tender progeny provide.
Distinguish all betimes with branding fire,
To note the tribe, the lineage, and the sire;
Whom to reserve for husband for the herd;
Or who shall be to sacrifice preferr'd;
Or whom thou shalt to turn thy glebe allow,
To smooth the furrows, and sustain the plough
The rest, for whom no lot is yet decreed,
May run in pastures, and at pleasure feed.
The calf, by nature and by genius made
To turn the glebe, breed to the rural trade.
Set him betimes to school; and let him be
Instructed there in rules of husbandry,
While yet his youth is flexible and green,
Nor bad examples of the world has seen,