hat makes blithe corn, beneath what starry sign To turn the sod, and wed the elm and vine, What care of beeves, and how the flock may thrive, And due acquaintance with the frugal hive, 4 Mæcenas, hence my song. Ye powers sublime, Who lead through heaven the silent lapse of time, Great universal lights, thou Liber blest, And Ceres, nurse of life, by whose bequest For Chaon mast our earth took wheat benign, And tinged her Acheloän cups with wine. 10 Ho too, ye Fauns, that love the farming folk, Come, tripping Fauns, and maidens of the oak, Your boons I sing. And thou, whose trident force Cleft the young earth, and woke the neighing horse: And thou, woodranger, whose three hundred steers, 15 All snowy white, the Cæan coppice rears: Nay, Pan thyself, stout warder of the sheep, Forsake ancestral grove and Arcad steep, If still thou lovest Mænala thine own, Come, Tegeän god, and make thy presence known! 20 Ho, Pallas, author of the olive bough, And boy inventor of the talon'd plough! With cypress fresh unfibred from the sods, Sylvanus, come! come, goddesses and gods! 24 All ye, whose province is the furrow'd plain, Who nurse unsown the infancy of grain, And pour upon the seedlands gracious rain. And foremost thou, of whom 'tis yet unknown What senate of the gods shall hold thy throne; Or if, great Cæsar, thou shalt haply deign 30 To view the towns, and make the world thy reign; Thy mother's myrtle if the globe shall bring, To crown thee sire of corn and tempest-king: Or com'st thou god of the unmeasur'd sea, And sailors own no providence but thee; 35 Shall Thulé be thy serf, and Tethys crave Thy hand for some sweet heiress of the wave? Or wilt thou lend the laggard months thy star, Where flies the Virgin from the claws afar, The Scorpion folds his fiery arms awry, 40 And leaves thee larger moiety of sky. Whate'er thy choice (since Orcus hopes in vain, Nor hast thyself so dark a lust of reign; Though Greece admire the meads of asphodel, And Proserpine be satisfied with hell), 45 Whate'er thy choice, vouchsafe my voyage good speed, And bid my gallant enterprise succeed; For waylost rustics deign with me to feel, Advance, and learn to honour our appeal. When Spring is new, and mountains grey with thaw, 50 And loam grows mealy to the zephyr's flaw, The plough at once my groaning bull must bear, And chafed along the furrow gleam the share. That corn-land best shall pay the farmer's cost, Which twice hath felt the sun, and twice the frost, 55 His wildest vows with double answer meet, And burst his garners with a world of wheat. But ere we plough a stranger farm, 'tis good To learn the winds, and heaven's uncertain mood, The ancient tilth, and how the country lies, 60 And what each quarter yields, and what denies. Here corn exults, and there the grape is glad, Here trees and grass, unbidden verdure add. So mark how Tmolus yields his saffron store, But ivory is the gift of Indian shore; 65 With incense soft the softer Shebans deal, The stark Chalybian's element is steel; With acrid castor reek the Pontic wares, Epirus wins the palm of Elian mares. So Nature framed these laws, for good or ill, And stamp'd on each the fiat of her will, 71 When first Deucalion, through a world forlorn, Cast stones, and man, a flinty race, was born. Then come, forthwith, before the year grow old, Let sturdy bulls turn up the buxom mould, 75 And dusty summer dress the clods supine, When mellow sunbeams more maturely shine. But if the land is poor; 'twill be enow Beneath Arcture to skim with shallow plough, Here, lest the weeds annoy the jocund grain, 80 And there, lest water fail the sandy plain. Shorn fallows each alternate year should rest, And leisure brace the languid meadow's breast; Or change your star, and sow the yellow corn Where bouncing peas with rattling pods were borne, 85 Nay, oft 'tis good to burn the sterile leys, And fire the stubble with a crackling blaze : Or where, from slim vetch and from lupin rude, You glean'd the brittle haulm and rustling wood. For hemp and oats consume their nurture deep, And poppies drizzled with Lethæan sleep. Alternate fallows good relief ensure, 90 And dry soils love a glut of rich manure : Then blush thou not, but boldly scatter round Uncleanly ashes on the exhausted ground. So fields by change of crops have welcome rest, Nor thankless proves the earth's unfurrow'd breast. 95 Nay, oft ’tis good to burn the sterile leys, And fire the stubble with a crackling blaze: Or if thereby the soil's constituents breed Mysterious vigour and nutritious feed; Or if, by purging of the fire, they lose 100 Injurious properties and worthless ooze; Or if the heat opes passages and pores Unseen, whose moisture meets the tender spores; Or if it hardens and contracts the veins, That gape too widely; lest the prying rains, 105 Or beating sunglare fiercely shed around, Or winter's searching frost consumes the ground. So then, by crushing idle clods, the swain With harrow and bush-harrow glads the plain, Nor void of sympathy doth Ceres fair 110 Look down from heaven betwixt her golden hair: Nor vain his work who cuts the straight rig's chine, With plough set crossways to his former line, Slashes the hummocks left by Autumn's toil, Exerts the land, and lords it o'er the soil. 115 For winters dry, and showery summers, pray; The dust of winter makes the cornland gay: 'Tis this so proudly decks the Mysian wold, And Gargara startled at his crown of gold. 119 And what of him who, having sown the grain, Falls to pell-mell, and routs the flying plain, Crushes the clods of over-fat argill, And floods the seedland with the ductile rill? When parch'd fields gasp with dying herbage—lo, He tempts the runnel from the hill-side trough; The purling runnel brawls and falls away 126 Through the smooth stones, and slakes the thirsty clay. Or him who, lest the stalk be overweigh'd, Feeds off the rankness of the tender blade, When first they top the furrow's edge; and drains The stagnant plashes from the spongy plains? 131 Especially if, by the season's whim, A flooded river overswell its brim, A slimy mantle o'er the field diffuse, And fill the ditches with fermenting ooze. 135 And yet, when carls and beeves have done their best, The felon goose will prove no trifling pest; Strymonian cranes, and bitter endive's root Annoy, and shade is noxious to the fruit. Our heavenly Father hath not judged it right 140 To leave the road of agriculture light: 'Twas he who first made husbandry a plan, And care a whetstone for the wit of man; Nor suffer'd he his own domains to lie Asleep in cumbrous old-world lethargy. 145 Ere Jove, the acres own'd no master swain, None durst enclose or even mark the plain; The world was common, and the willing land More frankly gave, with no one to demand. 'Twas Jove lent deadly venom to the snake, 150 Bade wolves to prowl, and bade the surges break, Stripp'd honey from the leaves, abolish'd fire, And made the wine that gush'd in floods retire: That so experience might fashion trade, On study's anvil, by laborious dint, 155 Track harvest in the furrows, and invade The fire that coucheth in the veins of flint. Then first the rivers felt the scoop'd canoe, Then mariners gave name, and number too, To every star that hath them in his care, 160 Pleïads, Hyads, and Lycaon's bear. Then snare for beasts, and lime for birds, were tried, And hounds to draw along the covert side. Some launch the cast-net on the river free, Some drag the dripping trawl along the sea. 165 Then temper'd steel and grating saws ensued, (With wedges first they clove the splintering wood,) Then came the various arts: oh, grand success Of desperate toil and resolute distress! But Ceres first ordain'd, for human weal, 170 To turn the sod with new-invented steel; When acorns and tree-strawberries fail'd the wood, And now Dodona grudged her ancient food. Nor long ere trouble fell upon the grain, That knavish rust should gnaw the stalk in twain, And thistles, lazy rufflers, choke the seeds; 176 The crops die off, a ragged wood succeeds, Caltrops and burs, and o'er the harvest gay, The gloomy darnel and the wild oats sway. And so, unless with constant harrows plied 180 You chop the soil, and scare the birds beside, And check with pruning-hook the bowering shade, And call with many a vow the shower's aid, Great ricks you shall behold of other folk, But make your dinner from the shaken oak. 185 Now sing the weapons of the hardy swain, Without which none can sow or reap the grain; The ploughshare first and massy curve of plough, Th' Eleusine mother's waggons rolling slow, The sled, the sleigh, the harrow's crushing weight, 190 And Celeus' ware, the cheap twig-woven crate; Bush-harrows too, and Bacchus' mystic van; All which, with foresight and judicious plan, Long time must be procured, if thou design To earn the glory of the farm divine. 195 Forthwith, a live elm by sheer force is bow'd, And grows a plough-stock with due curve endow'd; Hereto, at base, an eight-foot pole is join'd, Two earth-boards, and a share-beam doubles-pined: A linden also, lightsome for the yoke, 200 Is fell'd betimes, and beech that towers afar, (The helve behind to guide the plunging car)— Then hang these woods to season in the smoke. Now a timeworn maxim can I quote, Unless thou scornest things of little note: 205 With rollers level first the threshing-floor, Hand-pick, and ram with solid concrete o'er; Lest weeds steal through, or drought make dusty breach— For then a thousand foes will over-reach: Ofttimes the subterranean tiny mouse 210 Constructs his barn and keeps his private house, Or wall-eyed moles have scoop'd their bedrooms deep, And squatter toad sits in a chink asleep: The myriad monsters teeming earth affords, And weevils foul make boot upon thy hoards: 215 The pile diminishes, while emmets sage Provide against the bankruptcy of age. Mark too what time the forest hazel trims Her hood with flowers, and curves her fragrant limbs, If bloom abound, so shall the season's wheat, 220 And mighty threshing come with mighty heat: But if rank foliage shade the better half, The thresher then shall pound away at chaff. Full many a careful sower have I known To drug and soak the seed before 'twas sown, 225 With nitre and black lees of oil, to swell The kernel in the too deceitful shell: Yet steep it how you may, and steam it too, Selecting every sort with labour due, Degenerate they will, as I have seen, 230 Unless, each year, you cull the sample clean. Thus all things, sadly falling off, grow worse, Relapsing, tottering, under nature's curse. As one against the current, hard bested, With desperate tugging strains his shallop's head, 235 If, for one breath, his brawny arms he stay, Instant the torrent hurries him away. Moreover, we must watch Arcturus' beam, The rising of the Kids, the Serpent's gleam, 239 Like sailors tempest-toss'd, and homeward bound Through Pontus, and pearl-famed Abydos' sound. When Libra now hath balanced work and sleep, Bisecting earth with light and shadow deep, Urge on the bulls, sow barley o'er the plain, E'en to the verge of surly Winter's rain. 245 Now sow the Cereal poppy-seed, and now The flax, and lean full weight upon the plough, While yet the favouring earth continues dry, And clouds hang undetermined in the sky. Sow beans in Spring, give saintfoin mellow land, Nor grudge the millet's annual demand; While Taurus with his gilt horns opes the year, And rising backward, strikes the Dog with fear. But if for sturdy wheat you till the plain, 254 And take your stand on nothing else but grain, Let morning Pleiads sink on heaven's low verge, And bright the Cretan diadem emerge, Or ere you trust the furrows, and invest The season's hope in earth's reluctant breast. Too many will not wait till Maia set, 260 Then empty husks elude the harvest debt. And wilt thou sow the vetch, and kidney-bean, Nor proudly hold Pelusian leek too mean? Boötes setting will direct thee well, Begin, and cease not till the frosts compel. 265 By twelve bright stars, apportioning its girth, The golden sun administers the earth. Five zones enclasp the heavens, the central one Is scorch'd with fire, and red with blazing sun. Upon the right and left, the utmost twain 270 Are block'd with icebergs blue and murky rain. Between them and the midst, by gracious plan, Two zones have been vouchsafed to helpless man. Along them, where the ecliptic causeway lies, Marches the stately order of the skies. 275 Earth mounts tow'rd Scythia and Riphæan crest, Tow'rd Southern Libya falls away depress'd, This pole for ever towers above our head, That lies below the Styx and nether dead. Here the great Serpent draws his lithesome fold, And, like a river, wends his path of gold, 281 Betwixt and round the sister Bears to glide, (The Bears that shrink abash'd from ocean's tide.) But broodeth there the hush of timeless night For ever, and thick darkness veils the sight; 285 Or else fair morning, on her radiant way, From us returning, leadeth back the day: When fresh upon us pants her early team, There rosy Hesper lights his cresset beam. The seasons hence and weather we foreknow, The time of harvest and the time to sow; 291 And when most safe and pleasant it may be To skim with oars the smoothly treacherous sea, To launch our fleet with all its tackle fine, And topple down mature the greenwood pine; 295 Nor idly note the stars that set and rise, And earth's four seasons balanced in the skies. When cold and wet make prisoner of the hind, No lack of good employment shall he find, To finish jobs at leisure, which, deferr'd 300 Until the busy sunshine, would be slurr'd. The ploughman hammers out his batter'd share, Scoops wooden troughs, and brands his fleecy care, Or stamps the tallies on his sacks of corn, Or sharpens stakes and forks with double horn; While others bend the osier Amerine, 306 To check the freedom of the gadding vine: Now weave of bramble shoots your hampers neat, Now parch, now grind upon a stone, your wheat. Nay e'en when holy festival succeeds, 310 Both right and statute sanction certain deeds. From pious scruples no one hath forborne To lift the sluice or fence the standing corn, To snare the birds, to fire the bramble stook, And plunge the bleaters in the wholesome brook. And oft the driver of the laggard ass 316 With oil and orchard apples loads his pack, And leaving market, takes a millstone back, A chisell'd stone, or pitch a sable mass. The moon herself hath different days assign'd, In different order, lucky, and unkind. 321 Dread thou the fifth. Pale Orcus then was yean'd, And Furies; and the earth, a labouring fiend, Bore Cœus, Japetus, Typhœus cursed, And brothers sworn the barrier'd heaven to burst. 325 Three times they tugg'd to roll, with staggering strain, Ossa on Pelion, ay, and heave amain Olympus forest-crown'd. Three times the Sire Demolish'd with his bolt the mountain spire. Add seven to ten, and now your luck is full 330 To plant the vine, and tame the captured bull, To fix the beam, and join the thrum and weft; The ninth is good for travel, bad for theft. Moreover many things are better done In cool of night, or dew of early sun. 335 By night mow thirsty meads and stubble light, For softening moisture faileth not the night. And some, until the winter hearth grow dim, Renew the watch, and shape the torches trim, While, as her sprightly shuttle hums along, 340 The goodwife cheers their labour with a song, Mulls on the hob the sweetwort simmering hot, And takes a leaf to skim the chirping pot. But reap the ruddy corn in noonday heat, And leave till noon the threshing of the wheat. Plough in your shirt-sleeves, in your shirt-sleeves sow; 346 In winter-time the farmer's work is slow. In frost the yeoman plays a jovial part, And mutual entertainments warm the heart, Good fellowship maintains its jolly sway, 350 And genial Winter drives dull care away. So when the laden ship comes home to port The sailors crown the poop in grateful sport. Yet Winter best for gathering mast will suit, The bay, the olive, and red myrtle fruit; 355 In Winter snare the crane and net the roe, Chase prick-ear'd hares and pierce the bounding doe, With whiz and twang of Balearic flax, When snow lies deep and streams push icy packs. The stars and storms autumnal shall I sing, 360 When days decrease and summer suns decline, How men must watch? Or when the close of Spring Descends in showers tempestuous and malign; When tufts of harvest tassel o'er the plain, And on the green stalk swells the milky grain? 365 Myself have seen what time the farmer bold Would lead the reaper to the realms of gold, E'en while they strew the barley-swathe—from far Leaps the wild bluster of the winds at war: 369 Clean from the root the pregnant corn is riven, Swept up on high, and dash'd across the heaven, Away they fly, in the black whirlwind toss'd, Light reed, and dancing sheaf, and harvest lost. Ofttimes a host of waters march on high, And ocean-clouds with tempest blur the sky; 375 The founts of heaven are burst, and floods of rain Drown all the toils of beeves and smiles of grain; The dykes and fosses wax, and overpour, The hollow rivers lift their crest and roar, The ocean heaves and pants upon the shore. In midnight of the tempest-clouds reveal'd, 381 The great Creator doth the thunder wield, Beneath whose menace earth lies trembling pale, The lions fly, the hearts of nations fail: He, with the shaft of fire, in dust hath strawn 385 Athos, or Rhodopé, or high Ceraun: The winds and storms with tenfold fury pour, And now the woodlands, now the waters roar. In fear of this, observe the month and star, Where Saturn's freezing planet roves afar, 390 To which of heaven's broad trackways shall retire, In circling travel the Cyllenian fire. Especially adore the gods, and now To mighty Ceres pay thy yearly vow; Amid glad crops present thy gift and prayer, 395 When Winter vanishes and Spring is fair: Then lambs are fat, and wine most mellow found, Then sleep is sweet, and mountain shades abound. Let all your farm-lads bow at Ceres' shrine, 399 And mix her cakes with honey, milk, and wine: Thrice round the crops the goodly victim bear, While all the choir and merry neighbours share, And Ceres' visit with a shout invoke; Let no man lay a sickle to the grain Or ere in Ceres' honour, crown'd with oak, 405 He foot the unstudied dance and chant the strain. And that we may by certain signs foreknow The heat, the rain, the winds that drive the snow, The Father of the world himself decreed 409 What good advice the monthly moon should read, What sign should lull the storm, observing what The hind must keep the herd around the cot. Ere yet the lowering storm breaks o'er the land, A sullen groundswell heaves along the strand, 414 On mountain heights dry snapping sounds are heard, The booming shores bedrizzled are and blurr'd, And soughs of wind sigh through the forest stirr'd. The wave already scarce foregoes the hull, When homeward from the offing flies the gull, With screams borne inland by the blast; and when Sea-coots play round the margin of the fen; 421 The heron quits the marsh where she was bred, And soars upon a cloud far overhead. Nay, oft when storms are gathering, thou shalt spy The meteor stars shoot headlong down the sky, And, streaking the dark canopy of night, 426 Behind them draw a wake of flickering white: Along the ground flies chaff and foliage sere And dancing feathers race across the mere. It thunders from the head-quarters of the North, With Eastern halls and Western pealing forth; The meadows all with brimming fosses swim, And mariners their dripping canvas trim. No storm unwitting bursts: or if it sigh Far down the glen, the cranes soar up the sky; Or if in heaven, the heifer spies it there, 436 And opes her nostrils wide to snuff the air: Or round the lake the twittering swallows scud, And frogs croak grandam ditties in the mud. Ofttimes the emmet from her snug abode 440 Brings out her eggs and plods a chary road: The rainbow drinks its fill; the crows fly home, With jostling wings the cawing squadrons come. The different sea-birds and the birds that bore The Asian marsh of sweet Caÿster's shore 445 With copious dews their bustling shoulders lave, And duck their heads beneath the curling wave, Then deeper still into the breakers dash, And wanton in the luxury of splash. But stalking lonely on the arid plain, 450 The sullen raven hoarsely croaks for rain. Nor e'en the maids who ply their tasks at night Have fail'd to read the coming storm aright, Beholding now, upon the burning wick, The lamp-oil splutter and the mushrooms stick. Nor shalt thou lack clear tokens to descry, 456 In storms, the promise of a clearer sky: For then the edge of starlight is not blunt, Nor doth the moon her brother's gold discount, Nor wisps of wool flit o'er the zenith front. Then halcyons, loved by Thetis, spread no more Their wings, to catch the sunshine on the shore. Foul swine forget to toss their litter train, The mists hang low, and pillow on the plain: And posted high, the sunset to salute, 465 The owl renews her long unmeaning hoot. The kestrel Nisus hovers high in air, And claims poor Scylla for the purple hair; Where'er the poor lark darting cleaves the wind, With rush of wings fierce kestrel sweeps behind; Where'er fierce kestrel poises him behind, 471 She darting through the light air cleaves the wind. Then thrice the crows compress their gurgling throats, Or strain four times to fetch the guttural notes, And in their high nests, wild with magic joys, Make leafy stir and softly rustling noise; 476 Such ecstasy, when storm and rain are o'er, To see their nests and callow brood once more. I doubt myself if heaven in them create High reasoning power, and foresight, lord of fate; But when the weather, and the fickle sky, 481 Have changed their track, and shifted wet and dry, When Jove, with south winds reeking to the sense, Makes dense the rare, and rarifies the dense, New feelings rise, and other moods prevail, 485 Than while the clouds were scouring from the gale: And hence the meadow concert of the birds, Crows proud of guttural depth, and bounding herds. But if you duly ponder and compute The swift sun's travel and the moon's pursuit, To-morrow's hour shall ne'er your skill belie, 491 Nor starry nights cajole your practised eye. When first the moon repairs her crescent light, If she hath clasp'd with hazy horns the night, A mighty shower is brewing for the swain, 495 A mighty shower impends upon the main. But if she mantles with a maiden flush, Wind there shall be; the wind makes Phœbe blush. But if (her surest pledge), when four days old, She pace the sky with horns of vivid gold, 500 The following day, and days thereafter born, A month complete, both wind and wet shall scorn; While rescued sailors pay their full desert To Glaucus, Panope, and Melicert. The sun as well your beacon-light shall be, 505 Both rising and when plunging in the sea; Unerring signs attend the sun's career, At early morn, and when the stars appear. If he hath blurr'd and dappled the young dawn, Bank'd in a cloud and half his disk withdrawn, Fear showers and wild south-easters from the deep, 511 Ill-boding winds to fruit, and corn, and sheep. Or when, at day-break, through clouds composite, Diverging rays present a fan of light; Or when Aurora, from Tithonus' side, 515 Forsakes her saffron couch, a pallid bride,— Their leafy shield the mellow grapes shall fail, So rattles on the roof the pelting hail. And even more thou mayest learn thereby, When sinks the sun below the traversed sky. 520 For oft we see, upon his very face, Alternate colours flit in rapid chase, Denouncing rain, if violet prevail, A fiery red denotes the eastern gale. But if red fire is blotch'd with streaks of black, In storm and rain the welkin shall go wrack. 526 That night let no one bid me tempt the main, Or dare to cast adrift my mooring chain. But if the sun, with lucid orb and ray, Awake in turn, and lull to rest the day, 530 No clouds shalt thou regard, but mark the trees A-rustling in the bright north-eastern breeze. In short, whate'er the deepening twilight brings, The clouds that calmly float on airy wings, What means the damp south wind the sun shall spy, 535 And who shall dare to give the sun the lie? Nay, oft he warns that treason is not far, The black cabal, the heave of smother'd war. When Cæsar's light was quench'd in sudden fate, The sun with pity view'd the Roman state, 540 With steel-blue haze he mask'd his forehead bright, And godless ages fear'd eternal night. Nay, then the very earth and sea cried out, And carrion hounds and birds we meet to scout. How oft we saw Etna, with surging thunder, 545 Rend all the Cyclop furnaces asunder, Foaming and wallowing o'er the fields and flocks, With globes of fire, and floods of molten rocks! The clank of arms in heaven Germania heard, And quaking Alps with strange emotion stirr'd. A voice tremendous thrill'd the silent wood, 551 And ghastly spectres in the gloaming stood. Dumb cattle spake; oh, horrible phantasm! Rivers stand still, the earth yawns in a chasm. Pale ivory weeps upon the temple sconce, 555 And sweat pours down the images of bronze. Eridanus, the monarch of the floods, In ravening eddy whirls uprooted woods, Wide o'er the plains in weltering wreck he spreads The cattle-corpses and the cattle-sheds. 560 That year the entrails ceased not to display Dark presages and fibres of dismay, The wells to gush with blood; and, ringing deep, The howl of wolves startled the city's sleep. Such lightnings ne'er the cloudless heaven amazed, And ne'er before such awful comets blazed. 566
Philippi therefore saw the battle brunt, Roman again met Roman front to front: Nor grudged the gods our heart's blood to manure Emathia twice and lonely Hæmus' moor. 570 Forsooth a time shall come, when there below The farmer, toiling with the elbow'd plough, Shall strike on spears ate out with rusty flake, And batter empty morions with the rake, And, turning over monumental stones, 575 Recoil in wonder from gigantic bones. Ye Father-gods of Roman birth and name, Thou, Romulus, and Vesta, holy dame, On Tuscan Tiber's bank who hast thy home, And guardest well the palaces of Rome, 580 At least permit this youth, as we presage, To rise the saviour of the ruin'd age. Our blood has long flow'd fast enough to cloy The vengeance on Laomedon and Troy. For Cæsar long the court of heaven delays, 585 Indignant that he stoops to mortal bays: Where right and wrong stand each in other's place, Such worlds of war, such floutings of sin's face! The plough that blesses, with no honour blest, The fields gone frowsy, and the swains impress'd: The reap-hook forged into the stark sword-blade, Euphrates here, Germania there array'd! 592 Adjacent cities break their plighted faith, And o'er the globe ride hellish War and Death. So four-horsed chariots, at the word to race, Dash from the bars, and fling themselves on space, Whirl'd at the horses' will the driver strains, Full speed they scour, and laugh to scorn the reins.
hat makes blithe corn, beneath what starry sign
hat makes blithe corn, beneath what starry sign
