Georgics
Virgil
Vergil. The Poems of Vergil. Rhoades, James, translator. London: Oxford University Press, 1921.
- But who for milk hath longing, must himself
- Carry lucerne and lotus-leaves enow
- With salt herbs to the cote, whence more they love
- The streams, more stretch their udders, and give back
- A subtle taste of saltness in the milk.
- Many there be who from their mothers keep
- The new-born kids, and straightway bind their mouths
- With iron-tipped muzzles. What they milk at dawn,
- Or in the daylight hours, at night they press;
- What darkling or at sunset, this ere morn
- They bear away in baskets—for to town
- The shepherd hies him—or with dash of salt
- Just sprinkle, and lay by for winter use.
- Nor be thy dogs last cared for; but alike
- Swift Spartan hounds and fierce Molossian feed
- On fattening whey. Never, with these to watch,
- Dread nightly thief afold and ravening wolves,
- Or Spanish desperadoes in the rear.
- And oft the shy wild asses thou wilt chase,
- With hounds, too, hunt the hare, with hounds the doe;
- Oft from his woodland wallowing-den uprouse
- The boar, and scare him with their baying, and drive,
- And o'er the mountains urge into the toils
- Some antlered monster to their chiming cry.
- Learn also scented cedar-wood to burn
- Within the stalls, and snakes of noxious smell
- With fumes of galbanum to drive away.
- Oft under long-neglected cribs, or lurks
- A viper ill to handle, that hath fled
- The light in terror, or some snake, that wont
- 'Neath shade and sheltering roof to creep, and shower
- Its bane among the cattle, hugs the ground,
- Fell scourge of kine. Shepherd, seize stakes, seize stones!
- And as he rears defiance, and puffs out
- A hissing throat, down with him! see how low
- That cowering crest is vailed in flight, the while,
- His midmost coils and final sweep of tail
- Relaxing, the last fold drags lingering spires.
- Then that vile worm that in Calabrian glades
- Uprears his breast, and wreathes a scaly back,
- His length of belly pied with mighty spots—
- While from their founts gush any streams, while yet
- With showers of Spring and rainy south-winds earth
- Is moistened, lo! he haunts the pools, and here
- Housed in the banks, with fish and chattering frogs
- Crams the black void of his insatiate maw.
- Soon as the fens are parched, and earth with heat
- Is gaping, forth he darts into the dry,
- Rolls eyes of fire and rages through the fields,
- Furious from thirst and by the drought dismayed.
- Me list not then beneath the open heaven
- To snatch soft slumber, nor on forest-ridge
- Lie stretched along the grass, when, slipped his slough,
- To glittering youth transformed he winds his spires,
- And eggs or younglings leaving in his lair,
- Towers sunward, lightening with three-forked tongue.
- Of sickness, too, the causes and the signs
- I'll teach thee. Loathly scab assails the sheep,
- When chilly showers have probed them to the quick,
- And winter stark with hoar-frost, or when sweat
- Unpurged cleaves to them after shearing done,
- And rough thorns rend their bodies. Hence it is
- Shepherds their whole flock steep in running streams,
- While, plunged beneath the flood, with drenched fell,
- The ram, launched free, goes drifting down the tide.
- Else, having shorn, they smear their bodies o'er
- With acrid oil-lees, and mix silver-scum
- And native sulphur and Idaean pitch,
- Wax mollified with ointment, and therewith
- Sea-leek, strong hellebores, bitumen black.
- Yet ne'er doth kindlier fortune crown his toil,
- Than if with blade of iron a man dare lance
- The ulcer's mouth ope: for the taint is fed
- And quickened by confinement; while the swain
- His hand of healing from the wound withholds,
- Or sits for happier signs imploring heaven.
- Aye, and when inward to the bleater's bones
- The pain hath sunk and rages, and their limbs
- By thirsty fever are consumed, 'tis good
- To draw the enkindled heat therefrom, and pierce
- Within the hoof-clefts a blood-bounding vein.
- Of tribes Bisaltic such the wonted use,
- And keen Gelonian, when to Rhodope
- He flies, or Getic desert, and quaffs milk
- With horse-blood curdled. Seest one far afield
- Oft to the shade's mild covert win, or pull
- The grass tops listlessly, or hindmost lag,
- Or, browsing, cast her down amid the plain,
- At night retire belated and alone;
- With quick knife check the mischief, ere it creep
- With dire contagion through the unwary herd.
- Less thick and fast the whirlwind scours the main
- With tempest in its wake, than swarm the plagues
- Of cattle; nor seize they single lives alone,
- But sudden clear whole feeding grounds, the flock
- With all its promise, and extirpate the breed.
- Well would he trow it who, so long after, still
- High Alps and Noric hill-forts should behold,
- And Iapydian Timavus' fields,
- Ay, still behold the shepherds' realms a waste,
- And far and wide the lawns untenanted.
- Here from distempered heavens erewhile arose
- A piteous season, with the full fierce heat
- Of autumn glowed, and cattle-kindreds all
- And all wild creatures to destruction gave,
- Tainted the pools, the fodder charged with bane.
- Nor simple was the way of death, but when
- Hot thirst through every vein impelled had drawn
- Their wretched limbs together, anon o'erflowed
- A watery flux, and all their bones piecemeal
- Sapped by corruption to itself absorbed.
- Oft in mid sacrifice to heaven—the white
- Wool-woven fillet half wreathed about his brow—
- Some victim, standing by the altar, there
- Betwixt the loitering carles a-dying fell:
- Or, if betimes the slaughtering priest had struck,
- Nor with its heaped entrails blazed the pile,
- Nor seer to seeker thence could answer yield;
- Nay, scarce the up-stabbing knife with blood was stained,
- Scarce sullied with thin gore the surface-sand.
- Hence die the calves in many a pasture fair,
- Or at full cribs their lives' sweet breath resign;
- Hence on the fawning dog comes madness, hence
- Racks the sick swine a gasping cough that chokes
- With swelling at the jaws: the conquering steed,
- Uncrowned of effort and heedless of the sward,
- Faints, turns him from the springs, and paws the earth
- With ceaseless hoof: low droop his ears, wherefrom
- Bursts fitful sweat, a sweat that waxes cold
- Upon the dying beast; the skin is dry,
- And rigidly repels the handler's touch.
- These earlier signs they give that presage doom.
- But, if the advancing plague 'gin fiercer grow,
- Then are their eyes all fire, deep-drawn their breath,
- At times groan-laboured: with long sobbing heave
- Their lowest flanks; from either nostril streams
- Black blood; a rough tongue clogs the obstructed jaws.
- 'Twas helpful through inverted horn to pour
- Draughts of the wine-god down; sole way it seemed
- To save the dying: soon this too proved their bane,
- And, reinvigorate but with frenzy's fire,
- Even at death's pinch—the gods some happier fate
- Deal to the just, such madness to their foes—
- Each with bared teeth his own limbs mangling tore.
- See! as he smokes beneath the stubborn share,
- The bull drops, vomiting foam-dabbled gore,
- And heaves his latest groans. Sad goes the swain,
- Unhooks the steer that mourns his fellow's fate,
- And in mid labour leaves the plough-gear fast.
- Nor tall wood's shadow, nor soft sward may stir
- That heart's emotion, nor rock-channelled flood,
- More pure than amber speeding to the plain:
- But see! his flanks fail under him, his eyes
- Are dulled with deadly torpor, and his neck
- Sinks to the earth with drooping weight.
- What now
- Besteads him toil or service? to have turned
- The heavy sod with ploughshare? And yet these
- Ne'er knew the Massic wine-god's baneful boon,
- Nor twice replenished banquets: but on leaves
- They fare, and virgin grasses, and their cups
- Are crystal springs and streams with running tired,
- Their healthful slumbers never broke by care.
- Then only, say they, through that country side
- For Juno's rites were cattle far to seek,
- And ill-matched buffaloes the chariots drew
- To their high fanes. So, painfully with rakes
- They grub the soil, aye, with their very nails
- Dig in the corn-seeds, and with strained neck
- O'er the high uplands drag the creaking wains.
- No wolf for ambush pries about the pen,
- Nor round the flock prowls nightly; pain more sharp
- Subdues him: the shy deer and fleet-foot stags
- With hounds now wander by the haunts of men
- Vast ocean's offspring, and all tribes that swim,
- On the shore's confine the wave washes up,
- Like shipwrecked bodies: seals, unwonted there,
- Flee to the rivers. Now the viper dies,
- For all his den's close winding, and with scales
- Erect the astonied water-worms. The air
- Brooks not the very birds, that headlong fall,
- And leave their life beneath the soaring cloud.
- Moreover now nor change of fodder serves,
- And subtlest cures but injure; then were foiled
- The masters, Chiron sprung from Phillyron,
- And Amythaon's son Melampus. See!
- From Stygian darkness launched into the light
- Comes raging pale Tisiphone; she drives
- Disease and fear before her, day by day
- Still rearing higher that all-devouring head.
- With bleat of flocks and lowings thick resound
- Rivers and parched banks and sloping heights.
- At last in crowds she slaughters them, she chokes
- The very stalls with carrion-heaps that rot
- In hideous corruption, till men learn
- With earth to cover them, in pits to hide.
- For e'en the fells are useless; nor the flesh
- With water may they purge, or tame with fire,
- Nor shear the fleeces even, gnawed through and through
- With foul disease, nor touch the putrid webs;
- But, had one dared the loathly weeds to try,
- Red blisters and an unclean sweat o'erran
- His noisome limbs, till, no long tarriance made,
- The fiery curse his tainted frame devoured.
- Of air-born honey, gift of heaven, I now
- Take up the tale. Upon this theme no less
- Look thou, Maecenas, with indulgent eye.
- A marvellous display of puny powers,
- High-hearted chiefs, a nation's history,
- Its traits, its bent, its battles and its clans,
- All, each, shall pass before you, while I sing.
- Slight though the poet's theme, not slight the praise,
- So frown not heaven, and Phoebus hear his call.
- First find your bees a settled sure abode,
- Where neither winds can enter (winds blow back
- The foragers with food returning home)
- Nor sheep and butting kids tread down the flowers,
- Nor heifer wandering wide upon the plain
- Dash off the dew, and bruise the springing blades.
- Let the gay lizard too keep far aloof
- His scale-clad body from their honied stalls,
- And the bee-eater, and what birds beside,
- And Procne smirched with blood upon the breast
- From her own murderous hands. For these roam wide
- Wasting all substance, or the bees themselves
- Strike flying, and in their beaks bear home, to glut
- Those savage nestlings with the dainty prey.
- But let clear springs and moss-green pools be near,
- And through the grass a streamlet hurrying run,
- Some palm-tree o'er the porch extend its shade,
- Or huge-grown oleaster, that in Spring,
- Their own sweet Spring-tide, when the new-made chiefs
- Lead forth the young swarms, and, escaped their comb,
- The colony comes forth to sport and play,
- The neighbouring bank may lure them from the heat,
- Or bough befriend with hospitable shade.
- O'er the mid-waters, whether swift or still,
- Cast willow-branches and big stones enow,
- Bridge after bridge, where they may footing find
- And spread their wide wings to the summer sun,
- If haply Eurus, swooping as they pause,
- Have dashed with spray or plunged them in the deep.
- And let green cassias and far-scented thymes,
- And savory with its heavy-laden breath
- Bloom round about, and violet-beds hard by
- Sip sweetness from the fertilizing springs.
- For the hive's self, or stitched of hollow bark,
- Or from tough osier woven, let the doors
- Be strait of entrance; for stiff winter's cold
- Congeals the honey, and heat resolves and thaws,
- To bees alike disastrous; not for naught
- So haste they to cement the tiny pores
- That pierce their walls, and fill the crevices
- With pollen from the flowers, and glean and keep
- To this same end the glue, that binds more fast
- Than bird-lime or the pitch from Ida's pines.
- Oft too in burrowed holes, if fame be true,
- They make their cosy subterranean home,
- And deeply lodged in hollow rocks are found,
- Or in the cavern of an age-hewn tree.
- Thou not the less smear round their crannied cribs
- With warm smooth mud-coat, and strew leaves above;
- But near their home let neither yew-tree grow,
- Nor reddening crabs be roasted, and mistrust
- Deep marish-ground and mire with noisome smell,
- Or where the hollow rocks sonorous ring,
- And the word spoken buffets and rebounds.
- What more? When now the golden sun has put
- Winter to headlong flight beneath the world,
- And oped the doors of heaven with summer ray,
- Forthwith they roam the glades and forests o'er,
- Rifle the painted flowers, or sip the streams,
- Light-hovering on the surface. Hence it is
- With some sweet rapture, that we know not of,
- Their little ones they foster, hence with skill
- Work out new wax or clinging honey mould.
- So when the cage-escaped hosts you see
- Float heavenward through the hot clear air, until
- You marvel at yon dusky cloud that spreads
- And lengthens on the wind, then mark them well;
- For then 'tis ever the fresh springs they seek
- And bowery shelter: hither must you bring
- The savoury sweets I bid, and sprinkle them,
- Bruised balsam and the wax-flower's lowly weed,
- And wake and shake the tinkling cymbals heard
- By the great Mother: on the anointed spots
- Themselves will settle, and in wonted wise
- Seek of themselves the cradle's inmost depth.
- But if to battle they have hied them forth—
- For oft 'twixt king and king with uproar dire
- Fierce feud arises, and at once from far
- You may discern what passion sways the mob,
- And how their hearts are throbbing for the strife;
- Hark! the hoarse brazen note that warriors know
- Chides on the loiterers, and the ear may catch
- A sound that mocks the war-trump's broken blasts;
- Then in hot haste they muster, then flash wings,
- Sharpen their pointed beaks and knit their thews,
- And round the king, even to his royal tent,
- Throng rallying, and with shouts defy the foe.
- So, when a dry Spring and clear space is given,
- Forth from the gates they burst, they clash on high;
- A din arises; they are heaped and rolled
- Into one mighty mass, and headlong fall,
- Not denselier hail through heaven, nor pelting so
- Rains from the shaken oak its acorn-shower.
- Conspicuous by their wings the chiefs themselves
- Press through the heart of battle, and display
- A giant's spirit in each pigmy frame,
- Steadfast no inch to yield till these or those
- The victor's ponderous arm has turned to flight.
- Such fiery passions and such fierce assaults
- A little sprinkled dust controls and quells.
- And now, both leaders from the field recalled,
- Who hath the worser seeming, do to death,
- Lest royal waste wax burdensome, but let
- His better lord it on the empty throne.
- One with gold-burnished flakes will shine like fire,
- For twofold are their kinds, the nobler he,
- Of peerless front and lit with flashing scales;
- That other, from neglect and squalor foul,
- Drags slow a cumbrous belly. As with kings,
- So too with people, diverse is their mould,
- Some rough and loathly, as when the wayfarer
- Scapes from a whirl of dust, and scorched with heat
- Spits forth the dry grit from his parched mouth:
- The others shine forth and flash with lightning-gleam,
- Their backs all blazoned with bright drops of gold
- Symmetric: this the likelier breed; from these,
- When heaven brings round the season, thou shalt strain
- Sweet honey, nor yet so sweet as passing clear,
- And mellowing on the tongue the wine-god's fire.
- But when the swarms fly aimlessly abroad,
- Disport themselves in heaven and spurn their cells,
- Leaving the hive unwarmed, from such vain play
- Must you refrain their volatile desires,
- Nor hard the task: tear off the monarchs' wings;
- While these prove loiterers, none beside will dare
- Mount heaven, or pluck the standards from the camp.
- Let gardens with the breath of saffron flowers
- Allure them, and the lord of Hellespont,
- Priapus, wielder of the willow-scythe,
- Safe in his keeping hold from birds and thieves.
- And let the man to whom such cares are dear
- Himself bring thyme and pine-trees from the heights,
- And strew them in broad belts about their home;
- No hand but his the blistering task should ply,
- Plant the young slips, or shed the genial showers.
- And I myself, were I not even now
- Furling my sails, and, nigh the journey's end,
- Eager to turn my vessel's prow to shore,
- Perchance would sing what careful husbandry
- Makes the trim garden smile; of Paestum too,
- Whose roses bloom and fade and bloom again;
- How endives glory in the streams they drink,
- And green banks in their parsley, and how the gourd
- Twists through the grass and rounds him to paunch;
- Nor of Narcissus had my lips been dumb,
- That loiterer of the flowers, nor supple-stemmed
- Acanthus, with the praise of ivies pale,
- And myrtles clinging to the shores they love.
- For 'neath the shade of tall Oebalia's towers,
- Where dark Galaesus laves the yellowing fields,
- An old man once I mind me to have seen—
- From Corycus he came—to whom had fallen
- Some few poor acres of neglected land,
- And they nor fruitful' neath the plodding steer,
- Meet for the grazing herd, nor good for vines.
- Yet he, the while his meagre garden-herbs
- Among the thorns he planted, and all round
- White lilies, vervains, and lean poppy set,
- In pride of spirit matched the wealth of kings,
- And home returning not till night was late,
- With unbought plenty heaped his board on high.
- He was the first to cull the rose in spring,
- He the ripe fruits in autumn; and ere yet
- Winter had ceased in sullen ire to rive
- The rocks with frost, and with her icy bit
- Curb in the running waters, there was he
- Plucking the rathe faint hyacinth, while he chid
- Summer's slow footsteps and the lagging West.
- Therefore he too with earliest brooding bees
- And their full swarms o'erflowed, and first was he
- To press the bubbling honey from the comb;
- Lime-trees were his, and many a branching pine;
- And all the fruits wherewith in early bloom
- The orchard-tree had clothed her, in full tale
- Hung there, by mellowing autumn perfected.
- He too transplanted tall-grown elms a-row,
- Time-toughened pear, thorns bursting with the plum
- And plane now yielding serviceable shade
- For dry lips to drink under: but these things,
- Shut off by rigorous limits, I pass by,
- And leave for others to sing after me.
- Come, then, I will unfold the natural powers
- Great Jove himself upon the bees bestowed,
- The boon for which, led by the shrill sweet strains
- Of the Curetes and their clashing brass,
- They fed the King of heaven in Dicte's cave.
- Alone of all things they receive and hold
- Community of offspring, and they house
- Together in one city, and beneath
- The shelter of majestic laws they live;
- And they alone fixed home and country know,
- And in the summer, warned of coming cold,
- Make proof of toil, and for the general store
- Hoard up their gathered harvesting. For some
- Watch o'er the victualling of the hive, and these
- By settled order ply their tasks afield;
- And some within the confines of their home
- Plant firm the comb's first layer, Narcissus' tear,
- And sticky gum oozed from the bark of trees,
- Then set the clinging wax to hang therefrom.
- Others the while lead forth the full-grown young,
- Their country's hope, and others press and pack
- The thrice repured honey, and stretch their cells
- To bursting with the clear-strained nectar sweet.
- Some, too, the wardship of the gates befalls,
- Who watch in turn for showers and cloudy skies,
- Or ease returning labourers of their load,
- Or form a band and from their precincts drive
- The drones, a lazy herd. How glows the work!
- How sweet the honey smells of perfumed thyme
- Like the Cyclopes, when in haste they forge
- From the slow-yielding ore the thunderbolts,
- Some from the bull's-hide bellows in and out
- Let the blasts drive, some dip i' the water-trough
- The sputtering metal: with the anvil's weight
- Groans Etna: they alternately in time
- With giant strength uplift their sinewy arms,
- Or twist the iron with the forceps' grip—
- Not otherwise, to measure small with great,
- The love of getting planted in their breasts
- Goads on the bees, that haunt old Cecrops' heights,
- Each in his sphere to labour. The old have charge
- To keep the town, and build the walled combs,
- And mould the cunning chambers; but the youth,
- Their tired legs packed with thyme, come labouring home
- Belated, for afar they range to feed
- On arbutes and the grey-green willow-leaves,
- And cassia and the crocus blushing red,
- Glue-yielding limes, and hyacinths dusky-eyed.
- One hour for rest have all, and one for toil:
- With dawn they hurry from the gates—no room
- For loiterers there: and once again, when even
- Now bids them quit their pasturing on the plain,
- Then homeward make they, then refresh their strength:
- A hum arises: hark! they buzz and buzz
- About the doors and threshold; till at length
- Safe laid to rest they hush them for the night,
- And welcome slumber laps their weary limbs.
- But from the homestead not too far they fare,
- When showers hang like to fall, nor, east winds nigh,
- Confide in heaven, but 'neath the city walls
- Safe-circling fetch them water, or essay
- Brief out-goings, and oft weigh-up tiny stones,
- As light craft ballast in the tossing tide,
- Wherewith they poise them through the cloudy vast.
- This law of life, too, by the bees obeyed,
- Will move thy wonder, that nor sex with sex
- Yoke they in marriage, nor yield their limbs to love,
- Nor know the pangs of labour, but alone
- From leaves and honied herbs, the mothers, each,
- Gather their offspring in their mouths, alone
- Supply new kings and pigmy commonwealth,
- And their old court and waxen realm repair.
- Oft, too, while wandering, against jagged stones
- Their wings they fray, and 'neath the burden yield
- Their liberal lives: so deep their love of flowers,
- So glorious deem they honey's proud acquist.
- Therefore, though each a life of narrow span,
- Ne'er stretched to summers more than seven, befalls,
- Yet deathless doth the race endure, and still
- Perennial stands the fortune of their line,
- From grandsire unto grandsire backward told.
- Moreover, not Aegyptus, nor the realm
- Of boundless Lydia, no, nor Parthia's hordes,
- Nor Median Hydaspes, to their king
- Do such obeisance: lives the king unscathed,
- One will inspires the million: is he dead,
- Snapt is the bond of fealty; they themselves
- Ravage their toil-wrought honey, and rend amain
- Their own comb's waxen trellis. He is the lord
- Of all their labour; him with awful eye
- They reverence, and with murmuring throngs surround,
- In crowds attend, oft shoulder him on high,
- Or with their bodies shield him in the fight,
- And seek through showering wounds a glorious death.
- Led by these tokens, and with such traits to guide,
- Some say that unto bees a share is given
- Of the Divine Intelligence, and to drink
- Pure draughts of ether; for God permeates all—
- Earth, and wide ocean, and the vault of heaven—
- From whom flocks, herds, men, beasts of every kind,
- Draw each at birth the fine essential flame;
- Yea, and that all things hence to Him return,
- Brought back by dissolution, nor can death
- Find place: but, each into his starry rank,
- Alive they soar, and mount the heights of heaven.
- If now their narrow home thou wouldst unseal,
- And broach the treasures of the honey-house,
- With draught of water first toment thy lips,
- And spread before thee fumes of trailing smoke.
- Twice is the teeming produce gathered in,
- Twofold their time of harvest year by year,
- Once when Taygete the Pleiad uplifts
- Her comely forehead for the earth to see,
- With foot of scorn spurning the ocean-streams,
- Once when in gloom she flies the watery Fish,
- And dips from heaven into the wintry wave.
- Unbounded then their wrath; if hurt, they breathe
- Venom into their bite, cleave to the veins
- And let the sting lie buried, and leave their lives
- Behind them in the wound. But if you dread
- Too rigorous a winter, and would fain
- Temper the coming time, and their bruised hearts
- And broken estate to pity move thy soul,
- Yet who would fear to fumigate with thyme,
- Or cut the empty wax away? for oft
- Into their comb the newt has gnawed unseen,
- And the light-loathing beetles crammed their bed,
- And he that sits at others' board to feast,
- The do-naught drone; or 'gainst the unequal foe
- Swoops the fierce hornet, or the moth's fell tribe;
- Or spider, victim of Minerva's spite,
- Athwart the doorway hangs her swaying net.
- The more impoverished they, the keenlier all
- To mend the fallen fortunes of their race
- Will nerve them, fill the cells up, tier on tier,
- And weave their granaries from the rifled flowers.
- Now, seeing that life doth even to bee-folk bring
- Our human chances, if in dire disease
- Their bodies' strength should languish—which anon
- By no uncertain tokens may be told—
- Forthwith the sick change hue; grim leanness mars
- Their visage; then from out the cells they bear
- Forms reft of light, and lead the mournful pomp;
- Or foot to foot about the porch they hang,
- Or within closed doors loiter, listless all
- From famine, and benumbed with shrivelling cold.
- Then is a deep note heard, a long-drawn hum,
- As when the chill South through the forests sighs,
- As when the troubled ocean hoarsely booms
- With back-swung billow, as ravening tide of fire
- Surges, shut fast within the furnace-walls.
- Then do I bid burn scented galbanum,
- And, honey-streams through reeden troughs instilled,
- Challenge and cheer their flagging appetite
- To taste the well-known food; and it shall boot
- To mix therewith the savour bruised from gall,
- And rose-leaves dried, or must to thickness boiled
- By a fierce fire, or juice of raisin-grapes
- From Psithian vine, and with its bitter smell
- Centaury, and the famed Cecropian thyme.
- There is a meadow-flower by country folk
- Hight star-wort; 'tis a plant not far to seek;
- For from one sod an ample growth it rears,
- Itself all golden, but girt with plenteous leaves,
- Where glory of purple shines through violet gloom.
- With chaplets woven hereof full oft are decked
- Heaven's altars: harsh its taste upon the tongue;
- Shepherds in vales smooth-shorn of nibbling flocks
- By Mella's winding waters gather it.
- The roots of this, well seethed in fragrant wine,
- Set in brimmed baskets at their doors for food.
- But if one's whole stock fail him at a stroke,
- Nor hath he whence to breed the race anew,
- 'Tis time the wondrous secret to disclose
- Taught by the swain of Arcady, even how
- The blood of slaughtered bullocks oft has borne
- Bees from corruption. I will trace me back
- To its prime source the story's tangled thread,
- And thence unravel. For where thy happy folk,
- Canopus, city of Pellaean fame,
- Dwell by the Nile's lagoon-like overflow,
- And high o'er furrows they have called their own
- Skim in their painted wherries; where, hard by,
- The quivered Persian presses, and that flood
- Which from the swart-skinned Aethiop bears him down,
- Swift-parted into sevenfold branching mouths
- With black mud fattens and makes Aegypt green,
- That whole domain its welfare's hope secure
- Rests on this art alone. And first is chosen
- A strait recess, cramped closer to this end,
- Which next with narrow roof of tiles atop
- 'Twixt prisoning walls they pinch, and add hereto
- From the four winds four slanting window-slits.
- Then seek they from the herd a steer, whose horns
- With two years' growth are curling, and stop fast,
- Plunge madly as he may, the panting mouth
- And nostrils twain, and done with blows to death,
- Batter his flesh to pulp i' the hide yet whole,
- And shut the doors, and leave him there to lie.
- But 'neath his ribs they scatter broken boughs,
- With thyme and fresh-pulled cassias: this is done
- When first the west winds bid the waters flow,
- Ere flush the meadows with new tints, and ere
- The twittering swallow buildeth from the beams.
- Meanwhile the juice within his softened bones
- Heats and ferments, and things of wondrous birth,
- Footless at first, anon with feet and wings,
- Swarm there and buzz, a marvel to behold;
- And more and more the fleeting breeze they take,
- Till, like a shower that pours from summer-clouds,
- Forth burst they, or like shafts from quivering string
- When Parthia's flying hosts provoke the fray.
- Say what was he, what God, that fashioned forth
- This art for us, O Muses? of man's skill
- Whence came the new adventure? From thy vale,
- Peneian Tempe, turning, bee-bereft,
- So runs the tale, by famine and disease,
- Mournful the shepherd Aristaeus stood
- Fast by the haunted river-head, and thus
- With many a plaint to her that bare him cried:
- “Mother, Cyrene, mother, who hast thy home
- Beneath this whirling flood, if he thou sayest,
- Apollo, lord of Thymbra, be my sire,
- Sprung from the Gods' high line, why barest thou me
- With fortune's ban for birthright? Where is now
- Thy love to me-ward banished from thy breast?
- O! wherefore didst thou bid me hope for heaven?
- Lo! even the crown of this poor mortal life,
- Which all my skilful care by field and fold,
- No art neglected, scarce had fashioned forth,
- Even this falls from me, yet thou call'st me son.
- Nay, then, arise! With thine own hands pluck up
- My fruit-plantations: on the homestead fling
- Pitiless fire; make havoc of my crops;
- Burn the young plants, and wield the stubborn axe
- Against my vines, if there hath taken the
- Such loathing of my greatness.”