Georgics
Virgil
Vergil. The Poems of Vergil. Rhoades, James, translator. London: Oxford University Press, 1921.
- Not that all soils can all things bear alike.
- Willows by water-courses have their birth,
- Alders in miry fens; on rocky heights
- The barren mountain-ashes; on the shore
- Myrtles throng gayest; Bacchus, lastly, loves
- The bare hillside, and yews the north wind's chill.
- Mark too the earth by outland tillers tamed,
- And Eastern homes of Arabs, and tattooed
- Geloni; to all trees their native lands
- Allotted are; no clime but India bears
- Black ebony; the branch of frankincense
- Is Saba's sons' alone; why tell to thee
- Of balsams oozing from the perfumed wood,
- Or berries of acanthus ever green?
- Of Aethiop forests hoar with downy wool,
- Or how the Seres comb from off the leaves
- Their silky fleece? Of groves which India bears,
- Ocean's near neighbour, earth's remotest nook,
- Where not an arrow-shot can cleave the air
- Above their tree-tops? yet no laggards they,
- When girded with the quiver! Media yields
- The bitter juices and slow-lingering taste
- Of the blest citron-fruit, than which no aid
- Comes timelier, when fierce step-dames drug the cup
- With simples mixed and spells of baneful power,
- To drive the deadly poison from the limbs.
- Large the tree's self in semblance like a bay,
- And, showered it not a different scent abroad,
- A bay it had been; for no wind of heaven
- Its foliage falls; the flower, none faster, clings;
- With it the Medes for sweetness lave the lips,
- And ease the panting breathlessness of age.