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