Classic Poem

THE FIRST BOOK OF THE GEORGICS

What makes a plenteous harvest, when to turn
The fruitful soil, and when to sow the corn;
The care of sheep, of oxen, and of kine,
And how to raise on elms the teeming vine;
The birth and genius of the frugal bee,
I sing, Maecenas, and I sing to thee.
Ye deities, who fields and plains protect,
Who rule the seasons, and the year direct,
Bacchus and fost'ring Ceres, pow'rs divine,
Who gave us corn for mast, for water, wine;
Ye Fauns, propitious to the rural swains,
Ye nymphs, that haunt the mountains and the plains,
Join in my work, and to my numbers bring
Your needful succor; for your gifts I sing.
And thou, whose trident struck the teeming earth,
And made a passage for the courser's birth;
And thou, for whom the Caean shore sustains
Thy milky herds, that graze the flow'ry plains;
And thou, the shepherds' tutelary god,
Leave, for a while, O Pan, thy lov'd abode;
And, if Arcadian fleeces be thy care,
From fields and mountains to my song repair.
Inventor, Pallas, of the fatt'ning oil,
Thou founder of the plow, and plowman's toil;
And thou, whose hands the shroud-like cypress rear,
Come, all ye gods and goddesses, that wear
The rural honors, and increase the year:
You, who supply the ground with seeds of grain;
And you, who swell those seeds with kindly rain;
And chiefly thou, whose undetermin'd state
Is yet the business of the gods' debate,
Whether in after times to be declar'd
The patron of the world, and Rome's peculiar guard,
Or o'er the fruits and seasons to preside,
And the round circuit of the year to guide —
Pow'rful of blessings, which thou strew'st around,
And with thy goddess-mother's myrtle crown'd.
Or wilt thou, Caesar, choose the wat'ry reign,
To smooth the surges, and correct the main?
Then mariners, in storms, to thee shall pray;
Ev'n utmost Thule shall thy pow'r obey,
And Neptune shall resign the fasces of the sea;
The wat'ry virgins for thy bed shall strive,
And Tethys all her waves in dowry give.
Or wilt thou bless our summers with thy rays,
And, seated near the Balance, poise the days,
Where, in the void of heav'n, a space is free,
Betwixt the Scorpion and the Maid, for thee?
The Scorpion, ready to receive thy laws,
Yields half his region, and contracts his claws.
Whatever part of heav'n thou shalt obtain —
For let not hell presume of such a reign;
Nor let so dire a thirst of empire move
Thy mind, to leave thy kindred gods above —
Tho' Greece admires Elysium's blest retreat;
Tho' Proserpine affects her silent seat,
And, importun'd by Ceres to remove,
Prefers the fields below to those above, —
But thou, propitious Caesar, guide my course,
And to my bold endeavors add thy force:
Pity the poet's and the plowman's cares;
Int'rest thy greatness in our mean affairs,
And use thyself betimes to hear and grant our pray'rs.
While yet the spring is young, while Earth unbinds
Her frozen bosom to the western winds;
While mountain snows dissolve against the sun,
And streams, yet new, from precipices run;
Ev'n in this early dawning of the year,
Produce the plow, and yoke the sturdy steer,
And goad him till he groans beneath his toil,
Till the bright share is buried in the soil.
That crop rewards the greedy peasant's pains,
Which twice the sun, and twice the cold sustains,
And bursts the crowded barns with more than promis'd gains.
But, ere we stir the yet unbroken ground,
The various course of seasons must be found;
The weather, and the setting of the winds,
The culture suiting to the sev'ral kinds
Of seeds and plants, and what will thrive and rise,
And what the genius of the soil denies.
This ground with Bacchus, that with Ceres suits;
That other loads the trees with happy fruits;
A fourth with grass, unbidden, decks the ground.
Thus Tmolus is with yellow saffron crown'd:
India black ebon and white ivory bears;
And soft Idume weeps her od'rous tears.
Thus Pontus sends her beaver stones from far;
And naked Spaniards temper steel for war:
Epirus for th' Elean chariot breeds,
In hopes of palms, a race of running steeds.
This is the orig'nal contract; these the laws
Impos'd by Nature, and by Nature's cause,
On sundry places, when Deucalion hurl'd
His mother's entrails on the desart world;
Whence men, a hard laborious kind, were born.
Then borrow part of winter for thy corn,
And early with thy team the glebe in furrows turn;
That, while the turf lies open and unbound,
Succeeding suns may bake the mellow ground.
But, if the soil be barren, only scar
The surface, and but lightly print the share,
When cold Arcturus rises with the sun;
Lest wicked weeds the corn should overrun
In wat'ry soils, or lest the barren sand
Should suck the moisture from the thirsty land.
Both these unhappy soils the swain forbears,
And keeps a sabbath of alternate years,
That the spent earth may gather heart again,
And, better'd by cessation, bear the grain.
At least where vetches, pulse, and tares have stood,
And stalks of lupines grew (a stubborn wood),
Th' ensuing season, in return, may bear
The bearded product of the golden year.
For flax and oats will burn the tender field,
And sleepy poppies harmful harvests yield;
But sweet vicissitudes of rest and toil
Make easy labor, and renew the soil.
Yet sprinkle sordid ashes all around,
And load with fatt'ning dung thy fallow ground.
Thus change of seeds for meager soils is best;
And earth manur'd, not idle, tho' at rest.
Long practice has a sure improvement found,
With kindled fires to burn the barren ground,
When the light stubble, to the flames resign'd,
Is driv'n along, and crackles in the wind:
Whether from hence the hollow womb of Earth
Is warm'd with secret strength for better birth;
Or, when the latent vice is cur'd by fire,
Redundant humors thro' the pores expire;
Or that the warmth distends the chinks, and makes
New breathings, whence new nourishment she takes;
Or that the heat the gaping grounds constrains,
New knits the surface, and new strings the veins;
Lest soaking show'rs should pierce her secret seat,
Or freezing Boreas chill her genial heat,
Or scorching suns too violently beat.
Nor is the profit small the peasant makes,
Who smooths with harrows, or who pounds with rakes
The crumbling clods; nor Ceres from on high
Regards his labors with a grudging eye;
Nor his, who plows across the furrow'd grounds,
And on the back of earth inflicts new wounds;
For he with frequent exercise commands
Th' unwilling soil, and tames the stubborn lands.
Ye swains, invoke the pow'rs who rule the sky,
For a moist summer, and a winter dry;
For winter drought rewards the peasant's pain,
And broods indulgent on the buried grain.
Hence Mysia boasts her harvests, and the tops
Of Gargarus admire their happy crops.
When first the soil receives the fruitful seed,
Make no delay, but cover it with speed:
So fenc'd from cold, the pliant furrows break
Before the surly clod resists the rake.
And call the floods from high, to rush amain
With pregnant streams, to swell the teeming grain.
Then, when the fiery suns too fiercely play,
And shrivel'd herbs on with'ring stems decay,
The wary plowman, on the mountain's brow,
Undams his wat'ry stores — huge torrents flow,
And, rattling down the rocks, large moisture yield,
Temp'ring the thirsty fever of the field —
And lest the stem, too feeble for the freight,
Should scarce sustain the head's unwieldy weight,
Sends in his feeding flocks betimes, t' invade
The rising bulk of the luxuriant blade,
Ere yet th' aspiring offspring of the grain
O'ertops the ridges of the furrow'd plain;
And drains the standing waters, when they yield
Too large a bev'rage to the drunken field:
But most in autumn, and the show'ry spring,
When dubious months uncertain weather bring;
When fountains open, when impetuous rain
Swells hasty brooks, and pours upon the plain;
When earth with slime and mud is cover'd o'er,
Or hollow places spew their wat'ry store.
Nor yet the plowman, nor the lab'ring steer,
Sustain alone the hazards of the year:
But glutton geese, and the Strymonian crane,
With foreign troops invade the tender grain;
And tow'ring weeds malignant shadows yield;
And spreading succ'ry chokes the rising field.
The sire of gods and men, with hard decrees,
Forbids our plenty to be bought with ease,
And wills that mortal men, inur'd to toil,
Should exercise, with pains, the grudging soil.
Himself invented first the shining share,
And whetted human industry by care;
Himself did handicrafts and arts ordain,
Nor suffer'd sloth to rust his active reign.
Ere this, no peasant vex'd the peaceful ground,
Which only turfs and greens for altars found:
No fences parted fields, nor marks nor bounds
Distinguish'd acres of litigious grounds;
But all was common, and the fruitful Earth
Was free to give her unexacted birth.
Jove added venom to the viper's brood,
And swell'd with raging storms the peaceful flood;
Commission'd hungry wolves t' infest the fold,
And shook from oaken leaves the liquid gold;
Remov'd from human reach the cheerful fire,
And from the rivers bade the wine retire;
That studious need might useful arts explore,
From furrow'd fields to reap the foodful store,
And force the veins of clashing flints t' expire
The lurking seeds of their celestial fire.
Then first on seas the hollow'd alder swam;
Then sailors quarter'd heav'n, and found name
For ev'ry fix'd and ev'ry wand'ring star;
The Pleiads, Hyads, and the Northern Car.
Then toils for beasts, and lime for birds were found,
And deep-mouth dogs did forest walks surround;
And casting nets were spread in shallow brooks,
Drags in the deep, and baits were hung on hooks.
Then saws were tooth'd, and sounding axes made,
(For wedges first did yielding wood invade;)
And various arts in order did succeed:
What cannot endless labor, urg'd by need?
First Ceres taught the ground with grain to sow,
And arm'd with iron shares the crooked plow;
When now Dodonian oaks no more supplied
Their mast, and trees their forest fruit denied.
Soon was his labor doubled to the swain,
And blasting mildews blacken'd all his grain;
Tough thistles chok'd the fields, and kill'd the corn,
And an unthrifty crop of weeds was born:
Then burs and brambles, an unbidden crew
Of graceless guests, th' unhappy field subdue;
And oats unblest, and darnel domineers,
And shoots its head above the shining ears;
So that, unless the land with daily care
Is exercis'd, and with an iron war
Of rakes and harrows the proud foes expell'd,
And birds with clamors frighted from the field;
Unless the boughs are lopp'd that shade the plain,
And Heav'n invok'd with vows for fruitful rain,
On other crops you may with envy look,
And shake for food the long-abandon'd oak.
Nor must we pass untold what arms they wield,
Who labor tillage and the furrow'd field;
Without whose aid the ground her corn denies,
And nothing can be sown, and nothing rise:
The crooked plow, the share, the tow'ring height
Of wagons, and the cart's unwieldy weight;
The sled, the tumbril, hurdles, and the flail,
The fan of Bacchus, with the flying sail —
These all must be prepar'd, if plowmen hope
The promis'd blessing of a bounteous crop.
Young elms, with early force, in copses bow,
Fit for the figure of the crooked plow.
Of eight foot long a fasten'd beam prepare;
On either side the head produce an ear,
And sink a socket for the shining share:
Of beech the plow-tail and the bending yoke,
Or softer linden harden'd in the smoke.
I could be long in precepts; but I fear
So mean a subject might offend your ear.
Delve of convenient depth your thrashing floor:
With temper'd clay then fill and face it o'er;
And let the weighty roller run the round,
To smooth the surface of th' unequal ground;
Lest, crack'd with summer heats, the flooring flies,
Or sinks, and thro' the crannies weeds arise.
For sundry foes the rural realm surround;
The field mouse builds her garner under ground
For gather'd grain; the blind laborious mole
In winding mazes works her hidden hole;
In hollow caverns vermin make abode —
The hissing serpent, and the swelling toad;
The corn-devouring weasel here abides,
And the wise ant her wintry store provides.
Mark well the flow'ring almonds in the wood:
If od'rous blooms the bearing branches load,
The glebe will answer to the sylvan reign;
Great heats will follow, and large crops of grain.
But if a wood of leaves o'ershade the tree,
Such and so barren will thy harvest be:
In vain the hind shall vex the thrashing floor;
For empty chaff and straw will be thy store.
Some steep their seed, and some in caldrons boil,
With vigorous niter and with lees of oil,
O'er gentle fires, th' exuberant juice to drain,
And swell the flatt'ring husks with fruitful grain.
Yet is not the success for years assur'd,
Tho' chosen is the seed, and fully cur'd,
Unless the peasant, with his annual pain,
Renews his choice, and culls the largest grain.
Thus all below, whether by Nature's curse,
Or Fate's decree, degen'rate still to worse.
So the boat's brawny crew the current stem,
And, slow advancing, struggle with the stream;
But if they slack their hands, or cease to strive,
Then down the flood with headlong haste they drive.
Nor must the plowman less observe the skies,
When the Kids, Dragon, and Arcturus rise,
Than sailors homeward bent, who cut their way
Thro' Helle's stormy straits, and oyster-breeding sea.
But, when Astraea's Balance, hung on high,
Betwixt the nights and days divides the sky,
Then yoke your oxen, sow your winter grain,
Till cold December comes with driving rain.
Linseed and fruitful poppy bury warm,
In a dry season, and prevent the storm.
Sow beans and clover in a rotten soil,
And millet rising from your annual toil;
When with his golden horns, in full career,
The Bull beats down the barriers of the year,
And Argos and the Dog forsake the northern sphere.
But if your care to wheat alone extend,
Let Maia with her sisters first descend,
And the bright Gnossian diadem downward bend,
Before you trust in earth your future hope;
Or else expect a listless lazy crop.
Some swains have sown before; but most have found
A husky harvest from the grudging ground.
Vile vetches would you sow, or lentils lean,
The growth of Egypt, or the kidney bean?
Begin when the slow wagoner descends,
Nor cease your sowing till midwinter ends:
For this, thro' twelve bright signs Apollo guides
The year, and earth in sev'ral climes divides.
Five girdles bind the skies: the torrid zone
Glows with the passing and repassing sun;
Far on the right and left, th' extremes of heav'n
To frosts and snows and bitter blasts are giv'n;
Betwixt the midst and these, the gods assign'd
Two habitable seats for humankind,
And cross their limits cut a sloping way,
Which the twelve signs in beauteous order sway.
Two poles turn round the globe; one seen to rise
O'er Scythian hills, and one in Libyan skies;
The first sublime in heav'n, the last is whirl'd
Below the regions of the nether world.
Around our pole the spiry Dragon glides,
And, like a winding stream, the Bears divides —
The less and greater, who, by Fate's decree,
Abhor to dive beneath the southern sea.
There, as they say, perpetual night is found
In silence brooding on th' unhappy ground:
Or, when Aurora leaves our northern sphere,
She lights the downward heav'n, and rises there;
And, when on us she breathes the living light,
Red Vesper kindles there the tapers of the night.
From hence uncertain seasons we may know,
And when to reap the grain, and when to sow;
Or when to fell the furzes; when 't is meet
To spread the flying canvas for the fleet.
Observe what stars arise, or disappear;
And the four quarters of the rolling year.
But, when cold weather and continued rain
The lab'ring husband in his house restrain,
Let him forecast his work with timely care,
Which else is huddled when the skies are fair:
Then let him mark the sheep, or whet the shining share,
Or hollow trees for boats, or number o'er
His sacks, or measure his increasing store,
Or sharpen stakes, or head the forks, or twine
The sallow twigs to tie the straggling vine;
Or wicker baskets weave, or air the corn,
Or grinded grain betwixt two marbles turn.
No laws, divine or human, can restrain
From necessary works the lab'ring swain.
Ev'n holidays and feasts permission yield
To float the meadows, or to fence the field,
To fire the brambles, snare the birds, and steep
In wholesome waterfalls the woolly sheep.
And oft the drudging ass is driv'n, with toil,
To neighb'ring towns with apples and with oil;
Returning late, and loaden, home with gain
Of barter'd pitch, and handmills for the grain.
The lucky days, in each revolving moon,
For labor choose: the fifth be sure to shun;
That gave the Furies and pale Pluto birth,
And arm'd, against the skies, the sons of earth.
With mountains pil'd on mountains, thrice they strove
To scale the steepy battlements of Jove;
And thrice his lightning and red thunder play'd,
And their demolish'd works in ruin laid.
The sev'nth is, next the tenth, the best to join
Young oxen to the yoke, and plant the vine:
Then, weavers, stretch your stays upon the weft.
The ninth is good for travel, bad for theft.
Some works in dead of night are better done,
Or when the morning dew prevents the sun.
Parch'd meads and stubble mow by Phaebe's light,
Which both require the coolness of the night;
For moisture then abounds, and pearly rains
Descend in silence to refresh the plains.
The wife and husband equally conspire
To work by night, and rake the winter fire:
He sharpens torches in the glimm'ring room;
She shoots the flying shuttle thro' the loom,
Or boils in kettles must of wine, and skims
With leaves the dregs that overflow the brims;
And, till the watchful cock awakes the day,
She sings, to drive the tedious hours away.
But in warm weather, when the skies are clear,
By daylight reap the product of the year;
And in the sun your golden grain display,
And thrash it out, and winnow it by day.
Plow naked, swain, and naked sow the land;
For lazy winter numbs the lab'ring hand.
In genial winter, swains enjoy their store,
Forget their hardships, and recruit for more;
The farmer to full bowls invites his friends,
And, what he got with pains, with pleasure spends.
So sailors, when escap'd from stormy seas,
First crown their vessels, then indulge their ease.
Yet that 's the proper time to thrash the wood
For mast of oak, your fathers' homely food;
To gather laurel berries, and the spoil
Of bloody myrtles, and to press your oil;
For stalking cranes to set the guileful snare;
T' inclose the stags in toils, and hunt the hare;
With Balearic slings, or Gnossian bow,
To persecute from far the flying doe —
Then, when the fleecy skies new clothe the wood,
And cakes of rustling ice come rolling down the flood.
Now sing we stormy stars, when autumn weighs
The year, and adds to nights, and shortens days,
And suns declining shine with feeble rays:
What cares must then attend the toiling swain;
Or when the low'ring spring, with lavish rain,
Beats down the slender stem and bearded grain,
While yet the head is green, or, lightly swell'd
With milky moisture, overlooks the field.
Ev'n when the farmer, now secure of fear,
Sends in the swains to spoil the finish'd year;
Ev'n while the reaper fills his greedy hands,
And binds the golden sheafs in brittle bands;
Oft have I seen a sudden storm arise
From all the warring winds that sweep the skies:
The heavy harvest from the root is torn,
And whirl'd aloft the lighter stubble borne;
With such a force the flying rack is driv'n,
And such a winter wears the face of heav'n:
And oft whole sheets descend of sluicy rain,
Suck'd by the spongy clouds from off the main;
The lofty skies at once come pouring down,
The promis'd crop and golden labors drown.
The dykes are fill'd, and with a roaring sound
The rising rivers float the nether ground;
And rocks the bellowing voice of boiling seas rebound.
The Father of the Gods his glory shrouds,
Involv'd in tempests, and a night of clouds;
And, from the middle darkness flashing out,
By fits he deals his fiery bolts about.
Earth feels the motions of her angry god;
Her entrails tremble, and her mountains nod,
And flying beasts in forests seek abode:
Deep horror seizes ev'ry human breast;
Their pride is humbled and their fear confess'd,
While he from high his rolling thunder throws,
And fires the mountains with repeated blows.
The rocks are from their old foundations rent;
The winds redouble, and the rains augment:
The waves on heaps are dash'd against the shore;
And now the woods, and now the billows roar.
In fear of this, observe the starry signs,
Where Saturn houses, and where Hermes joins.
But first to Heav'n thy due devotions pay,
And annual gifts on Ceres' altars lay.
When winter's rage abates, when cheerful hours
Awake the spring, and spring awakes the flow'rs,
On the green turf thy careless limbs display,
And celebrate the Mighty Mother's day:
For then the hills with pleasing shades are crown'd,
And sleeps are sweeter on the silken ground;
With milder beams the sun securely shines;
Fat are the lambs, and luscious are the wines.
Let ev'ry swain adore her pow'r divine,
And milk and honey mix with sparkling wine:
Let all the choir of clowns attend the show
In long procession, shouting as they go;
Invoking her to bless their yearly stores,
Inviting plenty to their crowded floors.
Thus in the spring, and thus in summer's heat,
Before the sickles touch the ripening wheat,
On Ceres call; and let the lab'ring hind
With oaken wreaths his hollow temples bind:
On Ceres let him call, and Ceres praise,
With uncouth dances, and with country lays.
And that by certain signs we may presage
Of heats and rains, and wind's impetuous rage,
The sov'reign of the heav'ns has set on high
The moon, to mark the changes of the sky;
When southern blasts should cease, and when the swain
Should near their folds his feeding flocks restrain.
For, ere the rising winds begin to roar,
The working seas advance to wash the shore;
Soft whispers run along the leavy woods,
And mountains whistle to the murm'ring floods.
Ev'n then the doubtful billows scarce abstain
From the toss'd vessel on the troubled main;
When crying cormorants forsake the sea,
And stretching to the covert wing their way;
When sportful coots run skimming o'er the strand;
When watchful herons leave their wat'ry stand,
And mounting upward, with erected flight,
Gain on the skies, and soar above the sight.
And oft, before tempest'ous winds arise,
The seeming stars fall headlong from the skies,
And, shooting thro' the darkness, gild the night
With sweeping glories, and long trails of light;
And chaff with eddy-winds is whirl'd around,
And dancing leaves are lifted from the ground;
And floating feathers on the waters play.
But when the winged thunder takes his way
From the cold North, and East and West ingage,
And at their frontiers meet with equal rage,
The clouds are crush'd; a glut of gather'd rain
The hollow ditches fills, and floats the plain;
And sailors furl their dropping sheets amain.
Wet weather seldom hurts the most unwise;
So plain the signs, such prophets are the skies.
The wary crane foresees it first, and sails
Above the storm, and leaves the lowly vales;
The cow looks up, and from afar can find
The change of heav'n, and snuffs it in the wind;
The swallow skims the river's wat'ry face;
The frogs renew the croaks of their loquacious race;
The careful ant her secret cell forsakes,
And drags her eggs along the narrow tracks:
At either horn the rainbow drinks the flood;
Huge flocks of rising rooks forsake their food,
And, crying, seek the shelter of the wood.
Besides, the sev'ral sorts of wat'ry fowls
That swim the seas, or haunt the standing pools,
The swans that sail along the silver flood,
And dive with stretching necks to search their food,
Then lave their backs with sprinkling dews in vain,
And stem the stream to meet the promis'd rain.
The crow with clam'rous cries the show'r demands,
And single stalks along the desart sands.
The nightly virgin, while her wheel she plies,
Foresees the storm impending in the skies,
When sparkling lamps their sputt'ring light advance,
And in the sockets oily bubbles dance.
Then, after show'rs, 't is easy to descry
Returning suns, and a serener sky:
The stars shine smarter; and the moon adorns,
As with unborrow'd beams, her sharpen'd horns.
The filmy gossamer now flits no more,
Nor halcyons bask on the short sunny shore;
Their litter is not toss'd by sows unclean:
But a blue droughty mist descends upon the plain;
And owls, that mark the setting sun, declare
A starlight evening, and a morning fair.
Tow'ring aloft, avenging Nisus flies,
While, dar'd below, the guilty Scylla lies.
Wherever frighted Scylla flies away,
Swift Nisus follows, and pursues his prey;
Where injur'd Nisus takes his airy course,
Thence trembling Scylla flies, and shuns his force:
This punishment pursues th' unhappy maid,
And thus the purple hair is dearly paid.
Then, thrice the ravens rend the liquid air,
And croaking notes proclaim the settled fair;
Then, round their airy palaces they fly,
To greet the sun; and, seiz'd with secret joy,
When storms are overblown, with food repair
To their forsaken nests and callow care.
Not that I think their breasts with heav'nly souls
Inspir'd, as man, who destiny controls;
But with the changeful temper of the skies,
As rains condense, and sunshine rarefies,
So turn the species in their alter'd minds,
Compos'd by calms, and discompos'd by winds:
From hence proceeds the birds' harmonious voice;
From hence the crows exult, and frisking lambs rejoice.
Observe the daily circle of the sun,
And the short year of each revolving moon:
By them thou shalt foresee the following day,
Nor shall a starry night thy hopes betray.
When first the moon appears, if then she shrouds
Her silver crescent, tipp'd with sable clouds,
Conclude she bodes a tempest on the main,
And brews for fields impetuous floods of rain;
Or, if her face with fiery flushing glow,
Expect the rattling winds aloft to blow.
But, four nights old, (for that's the surest sign,)
With sharpen'd horns if glorious then she shine,
Next day, nor only that, but all the moon,
Till her revolving race be wholly run,
Are void of tempests, both by land and sea,
And sailors in the port their promis'd vow shall pay.
Above the rest, the sun, who never lies,
Foretells the change of weather in the skies:
For if he rise unwilling to his race,
Clouds on his brows, and spots upon his face,
Or if thro' mists he shoots his sullen beams,
Frugal of light, in loose and straggling streams;
Suspect a drizzling day, with southern rain,
Fatal to fruits, and flocks, and promis'd grain.
Or if Aurora, with half-open'd eyes,
And a pale sickly cheek, salute the skies;
How shall the vine, with tender leaves, defend
Her teeming clusters, when the storms descend,
When ridgy roofs and tiles can scarce avail
To bar the ruin of the rattling hail?
But, more than all, the setting sun survey,
When down the steep of heav'n he drives the day;
For oft we find him finishing his race
With various colors erring on his face.
If fiery red his glowing globe descends,
High winds and furious tempests he portends;
But if his cheeks are swoln with livid blue,
He bodes wet weather by his wat'ry hue.
If dusky spots are varied on his brow,
And, streak'd with red, a troubled color show;
That sullen mixture shall at once declare
Winds, rain, and storms, and elemental war:
What desp'rate madman then would venture o'er
The frith , or haul his cables from the shore?
But if with purple rays he brings the light,
And a pure heav'n resigns to quiet night,
No rising winds or falling storms are nigh;
But northern breezes thro' the forest fly,
And drive the rack, and purge the ruffled sky.
Th' unerring sun by certain signs declares
What the late ev'n or early morn prepares,
And when the south projects a stormy day,
And when the clearing north will puff the clouds away.
The sun reveals the secrets of the sky;
And who dares give the source of light the lie?
The change of empires often he declares,
Fierce tumults, hidden treasons, open wars.
He first the fate of Caesar did foretell,
And pitied Rome, when Rome in Caesar fell;
In iron clouds conceal'd the public light,
And impious mortals fear'd eternal night.
Nor was the fact foretold by him alone:
Nature herself stood forth, and seconded the sun.
Earth, air, and seas with prodigies were sign'd;
And birds obscene, and howling dogs divin'd.
What rocks did Ætna's bellowing mouth expire
From her torn entrails! and what floods of fire!
What clanks were heard, in German skies afar,
Of arms and armies, rushing to the war!
Dire earthquakes rent the solid Alps below,
And from their summets shook th' eternal snow;
Pale specters in the close of night were seen,
And voices heard of more than mortal men;
In silent groves dumb sheep and oxen spoke;
And streams ran backward, and their beds forsook;
The yawning earth disclos'd th' abyss of hell;
The weeping statues did the wars foretell,
And holy sweat from brazen idols fell.
Then, rising in his might, the king of floods
Rush'd thro' the forests, tore the lofty woods;
And, rolling onward, with a sweepy sway,
Bore houses, herds, and lab'ring hinds away.
Blood sprang from wells, wolfs howl'd in towns by night,
And boding victims did the priests affright;
Such peals of thunder never pour'd from high,
Nor forky lightnings flash'd from such a sullen sky.
Red meteors ran across th' ethereal space;
Stars disappear'd, and comets took their place.
For this, th' Emathian plains once more were strow'd
With Roman bodies, and just Heav'n thought good
To fatten twice those fields with Roman blood.
Then, after length of time, the lab'ring swains
Who turn the turfs of those unhappy plains
Shall rusty piles from the plow'd furrows take,
And over empty helmets pass the rake;
Amaz'd at antic titles on the stones,
And mighty relics of gigantic bones.
Ye home-born deities, of mortal birth!
Thou Father Romulus, and Mother Earth,
Goddess unmov'd! whose guardian arms extend
O'er Tuscan Tiber's course, and Roman tow'rs defend;
With youthful Caesar your joint pow'rs ingage,
Nor hinder him to save the sinking age.
O let the blood already spilt atone
For the past crimes of curst Laomedon!
Heav'n wants thee there; and long the gods, we know,
Have grudg'd thee, Caesar, to the world below,
Where fraud and rapine right and wrong confound,
Where impious arms from ev'ry part resound,
And monstrous crimes in ev'ry shape are crown'd.
The peaceful peasant to the wars is press'd;
The fields lie fallow in inglorious rest;
The plain no pasture to the flock affords;
The crooked scythes are straighten'd into swords:
And there Euphrates her soft offspring arms,
And here the Rhine rebellows with alarms;
The neighb'ring cities range on sev'ral sides,
Perfidious Mars long-plighted leagues divides,
And o'er the wasted world in triumph rides.
So four fierce coursers, starting to the race,
Scour thro' the plain, and lengthen ev'ry pace;
Nor reins, nor curbs, nor threat'ning cries they fear,
But force along the trembling charioteer.