Georgics
Virgil
Vergil. The Poems of Vergil. Rhoades, James, translator. London: Oxford University Press, 1921.
- Those that lift their head
- Into the realms of light spontaneously,
- Fruitless indeed, but blithe and strenuous spring,
- Since Nature lurks within the soil. And yet
- Even these, should one engraft them, or transplant
- To well-drilled trenches, will anon put of
- Their woodland temper, and, by frequent tilth,
- To whatso craft thou summon them, make speed
- To follow. So likewise will the barren shaft
- That from the stock-root issueth, if it be
- Set out with clear space amid open fields:
- Now the tree-mother's towering leaves and boughs
- Darken, despoil of increase as it grows,
- And blast it in the bearing. Lastly, that
- Which from shed seed ariseth, upward wins
- But slowly, yielding promise of its shade
- To late-born generations; apples wane
- Forgetful of their former juice, the grape
- Bears sorry clusters, for the birds a prey.
- Soothly on all must toil be spent, and all
- Trained to the trench and at great cost subdued.
- But reared from truncheons olives answer best,
- As vines from layers, and from the solid wood
- The Paphian myrtles; while from suckers spring
- Both hardy hazels and huge ash, the tree
- That rims with shade the brows of Hercules,
- And acorns dear to the Chaonian sire:
- So springs the towering palm too, and the fir
- Destined to spy the dangers of the deep.
- But the rough arbutus with walnut-fruit
- Is grafted; so have barren planes ere now
- Stout apples borne, with chestnut-flower the beech,
- The mountain-ash with pear-bloom whitened o'er,
- And swine crunched acorns 'neath the boughs of elms.