Georgics
Virgil
Vergil. The Poems of Vergil. Rhoades, James, translator. London: Oxford University Press, 1921.
- Apples, moreover, soon as first they feel
- Their stems wax lusty, and have found their strength,
- To heaven climb swiftly, self-impelled, nor crave
- Our succour. All the grove meanwhile no less
- With fruit is swelling, and the wild haunts of birds
- Blush with their blood-red berries. Cytisus
- Is good to browse on, the tall forest yields
- Pine-torches, and the nightly fires are fed
- And shoot forth radiance. And shall men be loath
- To plant, nor lavish of their pains? Why trace
- Things mightier? Willows even and lowly brooms
- To cattle their green leaves, to shepherds shade,
- Fences for crops, and food for honey yield.
- And blithe it is Cytorus to behold
- Waving with box, Narycian groves of pitch;
- Oh! blithe the sight of fields beholden not
- To rake or man's endeavour! the barren woods
- That crown the scalp of Caucasus, even these,
- Which furious blasts for ever rive and rend,
- Yield various wealth, pine-logs that serve for ships,
- Cedar and cypress for the homes of men;
- Hence, too, the farmers shave their wheel-spokes, hence
- Drums for their wains, and curved boat-keels fit;
- Willows bear twigs enow, the elm-tree leaves,
- Myrtle stout spear-shafts, war-tried cornel too;
- Yews into Ituraean bows are bent:
- Nor do smooth lindens or lathe-polished box
- Shrink from man's shaping and keen-furrowing steel;
- Light alder floats upon the boiling flood
- Sped down the Padus, and bees house their swarms
- In rotten holm-oak's hollow bark and bole.
- What of like praise can Bacchus' gifts afford?
- Nay, Bacchus even to crime hath prompted, he
- The wine-infuriate Centaurs quelled with death,
- Rhoetus and Pholus, and with mighty bowl
- Hylaeus threatening high the Lapithae.
- Oh! all too happy tillers of the soil,
- Could they but know their blessedness, for whom
- Far from the clash of arms all-equal earth
- Pours from the ground herself their easy fare!
- What though no lofty palace portal-proud
- From all its chambers vomits forth a tide
- Of morning courtiers, nor agape they gaze
- On pillars with fair tortoise-shell inwrought,
- Gold-purfled robes, and bronze from Ephyre;
- Nor is the whiteness of their wool distained
- With drugs Assyrian, nor clear olive's use
- With cassia tainted; yet untroubled calm,
- A life that knows no falsehood, rich enow
- With various treasures, yet broad-acred ease,
- Grottoes and living lakes, yet Tempes cool,
- Lowing of kine, and sylvan slumbers soft,
- They lack not; lawns and wild beasts' haunts are there,
- A youth of labour patient, need-inured,
- Worship, and reverend sires: with them from earth
- Departing justice her last footprints left.