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