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. Aye, and that these things we might win to knowBy certain tokens, heats, and showers, and windsThat bring the frost, the Sire of all himselfOrdained what warnings in her monthly roundThe moon should give, what bodes the south wind's fall,What oft-repeated sights the herdsman seeingShould keep his cattle closer to their stalls.No sooner are the winds at point to rise,Than either Ocean's firths begin to tossAnd swell, and a dry crackling sound is heardUpon the heights, or one loud ferment boomsThe beach afar, and through the forest goesA murmur multitudinous. By thisScarce can the billow spare the curved keels,When swift the sea-gulls from the middle mainCome winging, and their shrieks are shoreward borne,When ocean-loving cormorants on dry landBesport them, and the hern, her marshy hauntsForsaking, mounts above the soaring cloud.Oft, too, when wind is toward, the stars thou'lt seeFrom heaven shoot headlong, and through murky nightLong trails of fire white-glistening in their wake,Or light chaff flit in air with fallen leaves,Or feathers on the wave-top float and play.But when from regions of the furious NorthIt lightens, and when thunder fills the hallsOf Eurus and of Zephyr, all the fieldsWith brimming dikes are flooded, and at seaNo mariner but furls his dripping sails.Never at unawares did shower annoy:Or, as it rises, the high-soaring cranesFlee to the vales before it, with faceUpturned to heaven, the heifer snuffs the galeThrough gaping nostrils, or about the meresShrill-twittering flits the swallow, and the frogsCrouch in the mud and chant their dirge of old.Oft, too, the ant from out her inmost cells,Fretting the narrow path, her eggs conveys;Or the huge bow sucks moisture; or a hostOf rooks from food returning in long lineClamour with jostling wings. Now mayst thou seeThe various ocean-fowl and those that pryRound Asian meads within thy fresher-pools,Cayster, as in eager rivalry,About their shoulders dash the plenteous spray,Now duck their head beneath the wave, now runInto the billows, for sheer idle joyOf their mad bathing-revel. Then the crowWith full voice, good-for-naught, inviting rain,Stalks on the dry sand mateless and alone.Nor e'en the maids, that card their nightly task,Know not the storm-sign, when in blazing crockThey see the lamp-oil sputtering with a growthOf mouldy snuff-clots.
So too, after rain,Sunshine and open skies thou mayst forecast,And learn by tokens sure, for then nor dimmedAppear the stars' keen edges, nor the moonAs borrowing of her brother's beams to rise,Nor fleecy films to float along the sky.Not to the sun's warmth then upon the shoreDo halcyons dear to Thetis ope their wings,Nor filthy swine take thought to toss on highWith scattering snout the straw-wisps. But the cloudsSeek more the vales, and rest upon the plain,And from the roof-top the night-owl for naughtWatching the sunset plies her 'lated song.Distinct in clearest air is Nisus seenTowering, and Scylla for the purple lockPays dear; for whereso, as she flies, her wingsThe light air winnow, lo! fierce, implacable,Nisus with mighty whirr through heaven pursues;Where Nisus heavenward soareth, there her wingsClutch as she flies, the light air winnowing still.Soft then the voice of rooks from indrawn throatThrice, four times, o'er repeated, and full oftOn their high cradles, by some hidden joyGladdened beyond their wont, in bustling throngsAmong the leaves they riot; so sweet it is,When showers are spent, their own loved nests againAnd tender brood to visit. Not, I deem,That heaven some native wit to these assigned,Or fate a larger prescience, but that whenThe storm and shifting moisture of the airHave changed their courses, and the sky-god now,Wet with the south-wind, thickens what was rare,And what was gross releases, then, too, changeTheir spirits' fleeting phases, and their breastsFeel other motions now, than when the windWas driving up the cloud-rack. Hence proceedsThat blending of the feathered choirs afield,The cattle's exultation, and the rooks'Deep-throated triumph.
But if the headlong sunAnd moons in order following thou regard,Ne'er will to-morrow's hour deceive thee, ne'erWilt thou be caught by guile of cloudless night.When first the moon recalls her rallying fires,If dark the air clipped by her crescent dim,For folks afield and on the open seaA mighty rain is brewing; but if her faceWith maiden blush she mantle, 'twill be wind,For wind turns Phoebe still to ruddier gold.But if at her fourth rising, for 'tis thatGives surest counsel, clear she ride thro' heavenWith horns unblunted, then shall that whole day,And to the month's end those that spring from it,Rainless and windless be, while safe ashoreShall sailors pay their vows to Panope,Glaucus, and Melicertes, Ino's child.The sun too, both at rising, and when soonHe dives beneath the waves, shall yield thee signs;For signs, none trustier, travel with the sun,Both those which in their course with dawn he brings,And those at star-rise. When his springing orbWith spots he pranketh, muffled in a cloud,And shrinks mid-circle, then of showers beware;For then the South comes driving from the deep,To trees and crops and cattle bringing bane.Or when at day-break through dark clouds his raysBurst and are scattered, or when rising paleAurora quits Tithonus' saffron bed,But sorry shelter then, alack I will yieldVine-leaf to ripening grapes; so thick a hailIn spiky showers spins rattling on the roof.And this yet more 'twill boot thee bear in mind,When now, his course upon Olympus run,He draws to his decline: for oft we seeUpon the sun's own face strange colours stray;Dark tells of rain, of east winds fiery-red;If spots with ruddy fire begin to mix,Then all the heavens convulsed in wrath thou'lt see—Storm-clouds and wind together. Me that nightLet no man bid fare forth upon the deep,Nor rend the rope from shore. But if, when bothHe brings again and hides the day's return,Clear-orbed he shineth,idly wilt thou dreadThe storm-clouds, and beneath the lustral NorthSee the woods waving. What late eve in fineBears in her bosom, whence the wind that bringsFair-weather-clouds, or what the rain SouthIs meditating, tokens of all theseThe sun will give thee. Who dare charge the sunWith leasing? He it is who warneth oftOf hidden broils at hand and treachery,And secret swelling of the waves of war. He too it was, when Caesar's light was quenched,For Rome had pity, when his bright head he veiledIn iron-hued darkness, till a godless ageTrembled for night eternal; at that timeHowbeit earth also, and the ocean-plains,And dogs obscene, and birds of evil bodeGave tokens. Yea, how often have we seenEtna, her furnace-walls asunder riven,In billowy floods boil o'er the Cyclops' fields,And roll down globes of fire and molten rocks!A clash of arms through all the heaven was heardBy Germany; strange heavings shook the Alps.Yea, and by many through the breathless grovesA voice was heard with power, and wondrous-palePhantoms were seen upon the dusk of night,And cattle spake, portentous! streams stand still,And the earth yawns asunder, ivory weepsFor sorrow in the shrines, and bronzes sweat.Up-twirling forests with his eddying tide,Madly he bears them down, that lord of floods,Eridanus, till through all the plain are sweptBeasts and their stalls together. At that timeIn gloomy entrails ceased not to appearDark-threatening fibres, springs to trickle blood,And high-built cities night-long to resoundWith the wolves' howling. Never more than thenFrom skies all cloudless fell the thunderbolts,Nor blazed so oft the comet's fire of bale.Therefore a second time Philippi sawThe Roman hosts with kindred weapons rushTo battle, nor did the high gods deem it hardThat twice Emathia and the wide champaignOf Haemus should be fattening with our blood.Ay, and the time will come when there anigh,Heaving the earth up with his curved plough,Some swain will light on javelins by foul rustCorroded, or with ponderous harrow strikeOn empty helmets, while he gapes to seeBones as of giants from the trench untombed.Gods of my country, heroes of the soil,And Romulus, and Mother Vesta, thouWho Tuscan Tiber and Rome's PalatinePreservest, this new champion at the leastOur fallen generation to repairForbid not. To the full and long agoOur blood thy Trojan perjuries hath paid,Laomedon. Long since the courts of heavenBegrudge us thee, our Caesar, and complainThat thou regard'st the triumphs of mankind,Here where the wrong is right, the right is wrong,Where wars abound so many, and myriad-facedIs crime; where no meet honour hath the plough;The fields, their husbandmen led far away,Rot in neglect, and curved pruning-hooksInto the sword's stiff blade are fused and forged.Euphrates here, here Germany new strifeIs stirring; neighbouring cities are in arms,The laws that bound them snapped; and godless warRages through all the universe; as whenThe four-horse chariots from the barriers pouredStill quicken o'er the course, and, idly nowGrasping the reins, the driver by his teamIs onward borne, nor heeds the car his curb.