Georgics
Virgil
Vergil. The Poems of Vergil. Rhoades, James, translator. London: Oxford University Press, 1921.
- 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.