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Georgics: A Poem of the Land

<h3> GEORGIC III </h3> Thee too, great Pales, will I hymn, and thee, Amphrysian shepherd, worthy to be sung, You, woods and waves Lycaean. All themes beside, Which else had charmed the vacant mind with song, Are now waxed common. Of harsh Eurystheus who The story knows not, or that praiseless king Busiris, and his altars? or by whom Hath not the tale been told of Hylas young, Latonian Delos and Hippodame, And Pelops for his ivory shoulder famed, Keen charioteer? Needs must a path be tried, By which I too may lift me from the dust, And float triumphant through the mouths of men. Yea, I shall be the first, so life endure, To lead the Muses with me, as I pass To mine own country from the Aonian height; I, Mantua, first will bring thee back the palms Of Idumaea, and raise a marble shrine On thy green plain fast by the water-side, Where Mincius winds more vast in lazy coils, And rims his margent with the tender reed. Amid my shrine shall Caesar's godhead dwell. To him will I, as victor, bravely dight In Tyrian purple, drive along the bank A hundred four-horse cars. All Greece for me, Leaving Alpheus and Molorchus' grove, On foot shall strive, or with the raw-hide glove; Whilst I, my head with stripped green olive crowned, Will offer gifts. Even 'tis present joy To lead the high processions to the fane, And view the victims felled; or how the scene Sunders with shifted face, and Britain's sons Inwoven thereon with those proud curtains rise. Of gold and massive ivory on the doors I'll trace the battle of the Gangarides, And our Quirinus' conquering arms, and there Surging with war, and hugely flowing, the Nile, And columns heaped on high with naval brass. And Asia's vanquished cities I will add, And quelled Niphates, and the Parthian foe, Who trusts in flight and backward-volleying darts, And trophies torn with twice triumphant hand From empires twain on ocean's either shore. And breathing forms of Parian marble there Shall stand, the offspring of Assaracus, And great names of the Jove-descended folk, And father Tros, and Troy's first founder, lord Of Cynthus. And accursed Envy there Shall dread the Furies, and thy ruthless flood, Cocytus, and Ixion's twisted snakes, And that vast wheel and ever-baffling stone. Meanwhile the Dryad-haunted woods and lawns Unsullied seek we; 'tis thy hard behest, Maecenas. Without thee no lofty task My mind essays. Up! break the sluggish bonds Of tarriance; with loud din Cithaeron calls, Steed-taming Epidaurus, and thy hounds, Taygete; and hark! the assenting groves With peal on peal reverberate the roar. Yet must I gird me to rehearse ere long The fiery fights of Caesar, speed his name Through ages, countless as to Caesar's self From the first birth-dawn of Tithonus old. If eager for the prized Olympian palm One breed the horse, or bullock strong to plough, Be his prime care a shapely dam to choose. Of kine grim-faced is goodliest, with coarse head And burly neck, whose hanging dewlaps reach From chin to knee; of boundless length her flank; Large every way she is, large-footed even, With incurved horns and shaggy ears beneath. Nor let mislike me one with spots of white Conspicuous, or that spurns the yoke, whose horn At times hath vice in't: liker bull-faced she, And tall-limbed wholly, and with tip of tail Brushing her footsteps as she walks along. The age for Hymen's rites, Lucina's pangs, Ere ten years ended, after four begins; Their residue of days nor apt to teem, Nor strong for ploughing. Meantime, while youth's delight Survives within them, loose the males: be first To speed thy herds of cattle to their loves, Breed stock with stock, and keep the race supplied. Ah! life's best hours are ever first to fly From hapless mortals; in their place succeed Disease and dolorous eld; till travail sore And death unpitying sweep them from the scene. Still will be some, whose form thou fain wouldst change; Renew them still; with yearly choice of young Preventing losses, lest too late thou rue. Nor steeds crave less selection; but on those Thou think'st to rear, the promise of their line, From earliest youth thy chiefest pains bestow. See from the first yon high-bred colt afield, His lofty step, his limbs' elastic tread: Dauntless he leads the herd, still first to try The threatening flood, or brave the unknown bridge, By no vain noise affrighted; lofty-necked, With clean-cut head, short belly, and stout back; His sprightly breast exuberant with brawn. Chestnut and grey are good; the worst-hued white And sorrel. Then lo! if arms are clashed afar, Bide still he cannot: ears stiffen and limbs quake; His nostrils snort and roll out wreaths of fire. Dense is his mane, that when uplifted falls On his right shoulder; betwixt either loin The spine runs double; his earth-dinting hoof Rings with the ponderous beat of solid horn. Even such a horse was Cyllarus, reined and tamed By Pollux of Amyclae; such the pair In Grecian song renowned, those steeds of Mars, And famed Achilles' team: in such-like form Great Saturn's self with mane flung loose on neck Sped at his wife's approach, and flying filled The heights of Pelion with his piercing neigh. Even him, when sore disease or sluggish eld Now saps his strength, pen fast at home, and spare His not inglorious age. A horse grown old Slow kindling unto love in vain prolongs The fruitless task, and, to the encounter come, As fire in stubble blusters without strength, He rages idly. Therefore mark thou first Their age and mettle, other points anon, As breed and lineage, or what pain was theirs To lose the race, what pride the palm to win. Seest how the chariots in mad rivalry Poured from the barrier grip the course and go, When youthful hope is highest, and every heart Drained with each wild pulsation? How they ply The circling lash, and reaching forward let The reins hang free! Swift spins the glowing wheel; And now they stoop, and now erect in air Seem borne through space and towering to the sky: No stop, no stay; the dun sand whirls aloft; They reek with foam-flakes and pursuing breath; So sweet is fame, so prized the victor's palm. 'Twas Ericthonius first took heart to yoke Four horses to his car, and rode above The whirling wheels to victory: but the ring And bridle-reins, mounted on horses' backs, The Pelethronian Lapithae bequeathed, And taught the knight in arms to spurn the ground, And arch the upgathered footsteps of his pride. Each task alike is arduous, and for each A horse young, fiery, swift of foot, they seek; How oft so-e'er yon rival may have chased The flying foe, or boast his native plain Epirus, or Mycenae's stubborn hold, And trace his lineage back to Neptune's birth. These points regarded, as the time draws nigh, With instant zeal they lavish all their care To plump with solid fat the chosen chief And designated husband of the herd: And flowery herbs they cut, and serve him well With corn and running water, that his strength Not fail him for that labour of delight, Nor puny colts betray the feeble sire. The herd itself of purpose they reduce To leanness, and when love's sweet longing first Provokes them, they forbid the leafy food, And pen them from the springs, and oft beside With running shake, and tire them in the sun, What time the threshing-floor groans heavily With pounding of the corn-ears, and light chaff Is whirled on high to catch the rising west. This do they that the soil's prolific powers May not be dulled by surfeiting, nor choke The sluggish furrows, but eagerly absorb Their fill of love, and deeply entertain. To care of sire the mother's care succeeds. When great with young they wander nigh their time, Let no man suffer them to drag the yoke In heavy wains, nor leap across the way, Nor scour the meads, nor swim the rushing flood. In lonely lawns they feed them, by the course Of brimming streams, where moss is, and the banks With grass are greenest, where are sheltering caves, And far outstretched the rock-flung shadow lies. Round wooded Silarus and the ilex-bowers Of green Alburnus swarms a winged pest- Its Roman name Asilus, by the Greeks Termed Oestros- fierce it is, and harshly hums, Driving whole herds in terror through the groves, Till heaven is madded by their bellowing din, And Tanager's dry bed and forest-banks. With this same scourge did Juno wreak of old The terrors of her wrath, a plague devised Against the heifer sprung from Inachus. From this too thou, since in the noontide heats 'Tis most persistent, fend thy teeming herds, And feed them when the sun is newly risen, Or the first stars are ushering in the night. But, yeaning ended, all their tender care Is to the calves transferred; at once with marks They brand them, both to designate their race, And which to rear for breeding, or devote As altar-victims, or to cleave the ground And into ridges tear and turn the sod. The rest along the greensward graze at will. Those that to rustic uses thou wouldst mould, As calves encourage and take steps to tame, While pliant wills and plastic youth allow. And first of slender withies round the throat Loose collars hang, then when their free-born necks Are used to service, with the self-same bands Yoke them in pairs, and steer by steer compel Keep pace together. And time it is that oft Unfreighted wheels be drawn along the ground Behind them, as to dint the surface-dust; Then let the beechen axle strain and creak 'Neath some stout burden, whilst a brazen pole Drags on the wheels made fast thereto. Meanwhile For their unbroken youth not grass alone, Nor meagre willow-leaves and marish-sedge, But corn-ears with thy hand pluck from the crops. Nor shall the brood-kine, as of yore, for thee Brim high the snowy milking-pail, but spend Their udders' fullness on their own sweet young. But if fierce squadrons and the ranks of war Delight thee rather, or on wheels to glide At Pisa, with Alpheus fleeting by, And in the grove of Jupiter urge on The flying chariot, be your steed's first task To face the warrior's armed rage, and brook The trumpet, and long roar of rumbling wheels, And clink of chiming bridles in the stall; Then more and more to love his master's voice Caressing, or loud hand that claps his neck. Ay, thus far let him learn to dare, when first Weaned from his mother, and his mouth at times Yield to the supple halter, even while yet Weak, tottering-limbed, and ignorant of life. But, three years ended, when the fourth arrives, Now let him tarry not to run the ring With rhythmic hoof-beat echoing, and now learn Alternately to curve each bending leg, And be like one that struggleth; then at last Challenge the winds to race him, and at speed Launched through the open, like a reinless thing, Scarce print his footsteps on the surface-sand. As when with power from Hyperborean climes The north wind stoops, and scatters from his path Dry clouds and storms of Scythia; the tall corn And rippling plains 'gin shiver with light gusts; A sound is heard among the forest-tops; Long waves come racing shoreward: fast he flies, With instant pinion sweeping earth and main. A steed like this or on the mighty course Of Elis at the goal will sweat, and shower Red foam-flakes from his mouth, or, kindlier task, With patient neck support the Belgian car. Then, broken at last, let swell their burly frame With fattening corn-mash, for, unbroke, they will With pride wax wanton, and, when caught, refuse Tough lash to brook or jagged curb obey. But no device so fortifies their power As love's blind stings of passion to forefend, Whether on steed or steer thy choice be set. Ay, therefore 'tis they banish bulls afar To solitary pastures, or behind Some mountain-barrier, or broad streams beyond, Or else in plenteous stalls pen fast at home. For, even through sight of her, the female wastes His strength with smouldering fire, till he forget Both grass and woodland. She indeed full oft With her sweet charms can lovers proud compel To battle for the conquest horn to horn. In Sila's forest feeds the heifer fair, While each on each the furious rivals run; Wound follows wound; the black blood laves their limbs; Horns push and strive against opposing horns, With mighty groaning; all the forest-side And far Olympus bellow back the roar. Nor wont the champions in one stall to couch; But he that's worsted hies him to strange climes Far off, an exile, moaning much the shame, The blows of that proud conqueror, then love's loss Avenged not; with one glance toward the byre, His ancient royalties behind him lie. So with all heed his strength he practiseth, And nightlong makes the hard bare stones his bed, And feeds on prickly leaf and pointed rush, And proves himself, and butting at a tree Learns to fling wrath into his horns, with blows Provokes the air, and scattering clouds of sand Makes prelude of the battle; afterward, With strength repaired and gathered might breaks camp, And hurls him headlong on the unthinking foe: As in mid ocean when a wave far of Begins to whiten, mustering from the main Its rounded breast, and, onward rolled to land Falls with prodigious roar among the rocks, Huge as a very mountain: but the depths Upseethe in swirling eddies, and disgorge The murky sand-lees from their sunken bed. Nay, every race on earth of men, and beasts, And ocean-folk, and flocks, and painted birds, Rush to the raging fire: love sways them all. Never than then more fiercely o'er the plain Prowls heedless of her whelps the lioness: Nor monstrous bears such wide-spread havoc-doom Deal through the forests; then the boar is fierce, Most deadly then the tigress: then, alack! Ill roaming is it on Libya's lonely plains. Mark you what shivering thrills the horse's frame, If but a waft the well-known gust conveys? Nor curb can check them then, nor lash severe, Nor rocks and caverned crags, nor barrier-floods, That rend and whirl and wash the hills away. Then speeds amain the great Sabellian boar, His tushes whets, with forefoot tears the ground, Rubs 'gainst a tree his flanks, and to and fro Hardens each wallowing shoulder to the wound. What of the youth, when love's relentless might Stirs the fierce fire within his veins? Behold! In blindest midnight how he swims the gulf Convulsed with bursting storm-clouds! Over him Heaven's huge gate thunders; the rock-shattered main Utters a warning cry; nor parents' tears Can backward call him, nor the maid he loves, Too soon to die on his untimely pyre. What of the spotted ounce to Bacchus dear, Or warlike wolf-kin or the breed of dogs? Why tell how timorous stags the battle join? O'er all conspicuous is the rage of mares, By Venus' self inspired of old, what time The Potnian four with rending jaws devoured The limbs of Glaucus. Love-constrained they roam Past Gargarus, past the loud Ascanian flood; They climb the mountains, and the torrents swim; And when their eager marrow first conceives The fire, in Spring-tide chiefly, for with Spring Warmth doth their frames revisit, then they stand All facing westward on the rocky heights, And of the gentle breezes take their fill; And oft unmated, marvellous to tell, But of the wind impregnate, far and wide O'er craggy height and lowly vale they scud, Not toward thy rising, Eurus, or the sun's, But westward and north-west, or whence up-springs Black Auster, that glooms heaven with rainy cold. Hence from their groin slow drips a poisonous juice, By shepherds truly named hippomanes, Hippomanes, fell stepdames oft have culled, And mixed with herbs and spells of baneful bode. Fast flies meanwhile the irreparable hour, As point to point our charmed round we trace. Enough of herds. This second task remains, The wool-clad flocks and shaggy goats to treat. Here lies a labour; hence for glory look, Brave husbandmen. Nor doubtfully know How hard it is for words to triumph here, And shed their lustre on a theme so slight: But I am caught by ravishing desire Above the lone Parnassian steep; I love To walk the heights, from whence no earlier track Slopes gently downward to Castalia's spring. Now, awful Pales, strike a louder tone. First, for the sheep soft pencotes I decree To browse in, till green summer's swift return; And that the hard earth under them with straw And handfuls of the fern be littered deep, Lest chill of ice such tender cattle harm With scab and loathly foot-rot. Passing thence I bid the goats with arbute-leaves be stored, And served with fresh spring-water, and their pens Turned southward from the blast, to face the suns Of winter, when Aquarius' icy beam Now sinks in showers upon the parting year. These too no lightlier our protection claim, Nor prove of poorer service, howsoe'er Milesian fleeces dipped in Tyrian reds Repay the barterer; these with offspring teem More numerous; these yield plenteous store of milk: The more each dry-wrung udder froths the pail, More copious soon the teat-pressed torrents flow. Ay, and on Cinyps' bank the he-goats too Their beards and grizzled chins and bristling hair Let clip for camp-use, or as rugs to wrap Seafaring wretches. But they browse the woods And summits of Lycaeus, and rough briers, And brakes that love the highland: of themselves Right heedfully the she-goats homeward troop Before their kids, and with plump udders clogged Scarce cross the threshold. Wherefore rather ye, The less they crave man's vigilance, be fain From ice to fend them and from snowy winds; Bring food and feast them with their branchy fare, Nor lock your hay-loft all the winter long. But when glad summer at the west wind's call Sends either flock to pasture in the glades, Soon as the day-star shineth, hie we then To the cool meadows, while the dawn is young, The grass yet hoary, and to browsing herds The dew tastes sweetest on the tender sward. When heaven's fourth hour draws on the thickening drought, And shrill cicalas pierce the brake with song, Then at the well-springs bid them, or deep pools, From troughs of holm-oak quaff the running wave: But at day's hottest seek a shadowy vale, Where some vast ancient-timbered oak of Jove Spreads his huge branches, or where huddling black Ilex on ilex cowers in awful shade. Then once more give them water sparingly, And feed once more, till sunset, when cool eve Allays the air, and dewy moonbeams slake The forest glades, with halcyon's song the shore, And every thicket with the goldfinch rings. Of Libya's shepherds why the tale pursue? Why sing their pastures and the scattered huts They house in? Oft their cattle day and night Graze the whole month together, and go forth Into far deserts where no shelter is, So flat the plain and boundless. All his goods The Afric swain bears with him, house and home, Arms, Cretan quiver, and Amyclaean dog; As some keen Roman in his country's arms Plies the swift march beneath a cruel load; Soon with tents pitched and at his post he stands, Ere looked for by the foe. Not thus the tribes Of Scythia by the far Maeotic wave, Where turbid Ister whirls his yellow sands, And Rhodope stretched out beneath the pole Comes trending backward. There the herds they keep Close-pent in byres, nor any grass is seen Upon the plain, nor leaves upon the tree: But with snow-ridges and deep frost afar Heaped seven ells high the earth lies featureless: Still winter? still the north wind's icy breath! Nay, never sun disparts the shadows pale, Or as he rides the steep of heaven, or dips In ocean's fiery bath his plunging car. Quick ice-crusts curdle on the running stream, And iron-hooped wheels the water's back now bears, To broad wains opened, as erewhile to ships; Brass vessels oft asunder burst, and clothes Stiffen upon the wearers; juicy wines They cleave with axes; to one frozen mass Whole pools are turned; and on their untrimmed beards Stiff clings the jagged icicle. Meanwhile All heaven no less is filled with falling snow; The cattle perish: oxen's mighty frames Stand island-like amid the frost, and stags In huddling herds, by that strange weight benumbed, Scarce top the surface with their antler-points. These with no hounds they hunt, nor net with toils, Nor scare with terror of the crimson plume; But, as in vain they breast the opposing block, Butcher them, knife in hand, and so dispatch Loud-bellowing, and with glad shouts hale them home. Themselves in deep-dug caverns underground Dwell free and careless; to their hearths they heave Oak-logs and elm-trees whole, and fire them there, There play the night out, and in festive glee With barm and service sour the wine-cup mock. So 'neath the seven-starred Hyperborean wain The folk live tameless, buffeted with blasts Of Eurus from Rhipaean hills, and wrap Their bodies in the tawny fells of beasts. If wool delight thee, first, be far removed All prickly boskage, burrs and caltrops; shun Luxuriant pastures; at the outset choose White flocks with downy fleeces. For the ram, How white soe'er himself, be but the tongue 'Neath his moist palate black, reject him, lest He sully with dark spots his offspring's fleece, And seek some other o'er the teeming plain. Even with such snowy bribe of wool, if ear May trust the tale, Pan, God of Arcady, Snared and beguiled thee, Luna, calling thee To the deep woods; nor thou didst spurn his call. But who for milk hath longing, must himself Carry lucerne and lotus-leaves enow With salt herbs to the cote, whence more they love The streams, more stretch their udders, and give back A subtle taste of saltness in the milk. Many there be who from their mothers keep The new-born kids, and straightway bind their mouths With iron-tipped muzzles. What they milk at dawn, Or in the daylight hours, at night they press; What darkling or at sunset, this ere morn They bear away in baskets- for to town The shepherd hies him- or with dash of salt Just sprinkle, and lay by for winter use. Nor be thy dogs last cared for; but alike Swift Spartan hounds and fierce Molossian feed On fattening whey. Never, with these to watch, Dread nightly thief afold and ravening wolves, Or Spanish desperadoes in the rear. And oft the shy wild asses thou wilt chase, With hounds, too, hunt the hare, with hounds the doe; Oft from his woodland wallowing-den uprouse The boar, and scare him with their baying, and drive, And o'er the mountains urge into the toils Some antlered monster to their chiming cry. Learn also scented cedar-wood to burn Within the stalls, and snakes of noxious smell With fumes of galbanum to drive away. Oft under long-neglected cribs, or lurks A viper ill to handle, that hath fled The light in terror, or some snake, that wont 'Neath shade and sheltering roof to creep, and shower Its bane among the cattle, hugs the ground, Fell scourge of kine. Shepherd, seize stakes, seize stones! And as he rears defiance, and puffs out A hissing throat, down with him! see how low That cowering crest is vailed in flight, the while, His midmost coils and final sweep of tail Relaxing, the last fold drags lingering spires. Then that vile worm that in Calabrian glades Uprears his breast, and wreathes a scaly back, His length of belly pied with mighty spots- While from their founts gush any streams, while yet With showers of Spring and rainy south-winds earth Is moistened, lo! he haunts the pools, and here Housed in the banks, with fish and chattering frogs Crams the black void of his insatiate maw. Soon as the fens are parched, and earth with heat Is gaping, forth he darts into the dry, Rolls eyes of fire and rages through the fields, Furious from thirst and by the drought dismayed. Me list not then beneath the open heaven To snatch soft slumber, nor on forest-ridge Lie stretched along the grass, when, slipped his slough, To glittering youth transformed he winds his spires, And eggs or younglings leaving in his lair, Towers sunward, lightening with three-forked tongue. Of sickness, too, the causes and the signs I'll teach thee. Loathly scab assails the sheep, When chilly showers have probed them to the quick, And winter stark with hoar-frost, or when sweat Unpurged cleaves to them after shearing done, And rough thorns rend their bodies. Hence it is Shepherds their whole flock steep in running streams, While, plunged beneath the flood, with drenched fell, The ram, launched free, goes drifting down the tide. Else, having shorn, they smear their bodies o'er With acrid oil-lees, and mix silver-scum And native sulphur and Idaean pitch, Wax mollified with ointment, and therewith Sea-leek, strong hellebores, bitumen black. Yet ne'er doth kindlier fortune crown his toil, Than if with blade of iron a man dare lance The ulcer's mouth ope: for the taint is fed And quickened by confinement; while the swain His hand of healing from the wound withholds, Or sits for happier signs imploring heaven. Aye, and when inward to the bleater's bones The pain hath sunk and rages, and their limbs By thirsty fever are consumed, 'tis good To draw the enkindled heat therefrom, and pierce Within the hoof-clefts a blood-bounding vein. Of tribes Bisaltic such the wonted use, And keen Gelonian, when to Rhodope He flies, or Getic desert, and quaffs milk With horse-blood curdled. Seest one far afield Oft to the shade's mild covert win, or pull The grass tops listlessly, or hindmost lag, Or, browsing, cast her down amid the plain, At night retire belated and alone; With quick knife check the mischief, ere it creep With dire contagion through the unwary herd. Less thick and fast the whirlwind scours the main With tempest in its wake, than swarm the plagues Of cattle; nor seize they single lives alone, But sudden clear whole feeding grounds, the flock With all its promise, and extirpate the breed. Well would he trow it who, so long after, still High Alps and Noric hill-forts should behold, And Iapydian Timavus' fields, Ay, still behold the shepherds' realms a waste, And far and wide the lawns untenanted. Here from distempered heavens erewhile arose A piteous season, with the full fierce heat Of autumn glowed, and cattle-kindreds all And all wild creatures to destruction gave, Tainted the pools, the fodder charged with bane. Nor simple was the way of death, but when Hot thirst through every vein impelled had drawn Their wretched limbs together, anon o'erflowed A watery flux, and all their bones piecemeal Sapped by corruption to itself absorbed. Oft in mid sacrifice to heaven- the white Wool-woven fillet half wreathed about his brow- Some victim, standing by the altar, there Betwixt the loitering carles a-dying fell: Or, if betimes the slaughtering priest had struck, Nor with its heaped entrails blazed the pile, Nor seer to seeker thence could answer yield; Nay, scarce the up-stabbing knife with blood was stained, Scarce sullied with thin gore the surface-sand. Hence die the calves in many a pasture fair, Or at full cribs their lives' sweet breath resign; Hence on the fawning dog comes madness, hence Racks the sick swine a gasping cough that chokes With swelling at the jaws: the conquering steed, Uncrowned of effort and heedless of the sward, Faints, turns him from the springs, and paws the earth With ceaseless hoof: low droop his ears, wherefrom Bursts fitful sweat, a sweat that waxes cold Upon the dying beast; the skin is dry, And rigidly repels the handler's touch. These earlier signs they give that presage doom. But, if the advancing plague 'gin fiercer grow, Then are their eyes all fire, deep-drawn their breath, At times groan-laboured: with long sobbing heave Their lowest flanks; from either nostril streams Black blood; a rough tongue clogs the obstructed jaws. 'Twas helpful through inverted horn to pour Draughts of the wine-god down; sole way it seemed To save the dying: soon this too proved their bane, And, reinvigorate but with frenzy's fire, Even at death's pinch- the gods some happier fate Deal to the just, such madness to their foes- Each with bared teeth his own limbs mangling tore. See! as he smokes beneath the stubborn share, The bull drops, vomiting foam-dabbled gore, And heaves his latest groans. Sad goes the swain, Unhooks the steer that mourns his fellow's fate, And in mid labour leaves the plough-gear fast. Nor tall wood's shadow, nor soft sward may stir That heart's emotion, nor rock-channelled flood, More pure than amber speeding to the plain: But see! his flanks fail under him, his eyes Are dulled with deadly torpor, and his neck Sinks to the earth with drooping weight. What now Besteads him toil or service? to have turned The heavy sod with ploughshare? And yet these Ne'er knew the Massic wine-god's baneful boon, Nor twice replenished banquets: but on leaves They fare, and virgin grasses, and their cups Are crystal springs and streams with running tired, Their healthful slumbers never broke by care. Then only, say they, through that country side For Juno's rites were cattle far to seek, And ill-matched buffaloes the chariots drew To their high fanes. So, painfully with rakes They grub the soil, aye, with their very nails Dig in the corn-seeds, and with strained neck O'er the high uplands drag the creaking wains. No wolf for ambush pries about the pen, Nor round the flock prowls nightly; pain more sharp Subdues him: the shy deer and fleet-foot stags With hounds now wander by the haunts of men Vast ocean's offspring, and all tribes that swim, On the shore's confine the wave washes up, Like shipwrecked bodies: seals, unwonted there, Flee to the rivers. Now the viper dies, For all his den's close winding, and with scales Erect the astonied water-worms. The air Brooks not the very birds, that headlong fall, And leave their life beneath the soaring cloud. Moreover now nor change of fodder serves, And subtlest cures but injure; then were foiled The masters, Chiron sprung from Phillyron, And Amythaon's son Melampus. See! From Stygian darkness launched into the light Comes raging pale Tisiphone; she drives Disease and fear before her, day by day Still rearing higher that all-devouring head. With bleat of flocks and lowings thick resound Rivers and parched banks and sloping heights. At last in crowds she slaughters them, she chokes The very stalls with carrion-heaps that rot In hideous corruption, till men learn With earth to cover them, in pits to hide. For e'en the fells are useless; nor the flesh With water may they purge, or tame with fire, Nor shear the fleeces even, gnawed through and through With foul disease, nor touch the putrid webs; But, had one dared the loathly weeds to try, Red blisters and an unclean sweat o'erran His noisome limbs, till, no long tarriance made, The fiery curse his tainted frame devoured. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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