Many the tasks that lightlier lend themselvesIn chilly night, or when the sun is young,And Dawn bedews the world. By night 'tis bestTo reap light stubble, and parched fields by night;For nights the suppling moisture never fails.And one will sit the long late watches outBy winter fire-light, shaping with keen bladeThe torches to a point; his wife the while,Her tedious labour soothing with a song,Speeds the shrill comb along the warp, or elseWith Vulcan's aid boils the sweet must-juice down,And skims with leaves the quivering cauldron's wave.But ruddy Ceres in mid heat is mown,And in mid heat the parched ears are bruisedUpon the floor; to plough strip, strip to sow;Winter's the lazy time for husbandmen.In the cold season farmers wont to tasteThe increase of their toil, and yield themselvesTo mutual interchange of festal cheer.Boon winter bids them, and unbinds their cares,As laden keels, when now the port they touch,And happy sailors crown the sterns with flowers.Nathless then also time it is to stripAcorns from oaks, and berries from the bay,Olives, and bleeding myrtles, then to setSnares for the crane, and meshes for the stag,And hunt the long-eared hares, then pierce the doeWith whirl of hempen-thonged Balearic sling,While snow lies deep, and streams are drifting ice.
What need to tell of autumn's storms and stars,And wherefore men must watch, when now the dayGrows shorter, and more soft the summer's heat?When Spring the rain-bringer comes rushing down,Or when the beards of harvest on the plainBristle already, and the milky cornOn its green stalk is swelling? Many a time,When now the farmer to his yellow fieldsThe reaping-hind came bringing, even in actTo lop the brittle barley stems, have ISeen all the windy legions clash in warTogether, as to rend up far and wideThe heavy corn-crop from its lowest roots,And toss it skyward: so might winter's flaw,Dark-eddying, whirl light stalks and flying straws.Oft too comes looming vast along the skyA march of waters; mustering from above,The clouds roll up the tempest, heaped and grimWith angry showers: down falls the height of heaven,And with a great rain floods the smiling crops,The oxen's labour: now the dikes fill fast,And the void river-beds swell thunderously,And all the panting firths of Ocean boil.The Sire himself in midnight of the cloudsWields with red hand the levin; through all her bulkEarth at the hurly quakes; the beasts are fled,And mortal hearts of every kindred sunkIn cowering terror; he with flaming brandAthos, or Rhodope, or Ceraunian cragsPrecipitates: then doubly raves the SouthWith shower on blinding shower, and woods and coastsWail fitfully beneath the mighty blast.This fearing, mark the months and Signs of heaven,Whither retires him Saturn's icy star,And through what heavenly cycles wanderethThe glowing orb Cyllenian. Before allWorship the Gods, and to great Ceres payHer yearly dues upon the happy swardWith sacrifice, anigh the utmost endOf winter, and when Spring begins to smile.Then lambs are fat, and wines are mellowest then;Then sleep is sweet, and dark the shadows fallUpon the mountains. Let your rustic youthTo Ceres do obeisance, one and all;And for her pleasure thou mix honeycombsWith milk and the ripe wine-god; thrice for luckAround the young corn let the victim go,And all the choir, a joyful company,Attend it, and with shouts bid Ceres comeTo be their house-mate; and let no man darePut sickle to the ripened ears until,With woven oak his temples chapleted,He foot the rugged dance and chant the lay.