Georgics

You measure out rich acres, then plant thick;

Thick planting makes no niggard of the vine;

But if on rising mound or sloping bill,

Then let the rows have room, so none the less

Each line you draw, when all the trees are set,

May tally to perfection. Even as oft

In mighty war, whenas the legion's length

Deploys its cohorts, and the column stands

In open plain, the ranks of battle set,

And far and near with rippling sheen of arms

The wide earth flickers, nor yet in grisly strife

Foe grapples foe, but dubious 'twixt the hosts

The war-god wavers; so let all be ranged

In equal rows symmetric, not alone

To feed an idle fancy with the view,

But since not otherwise will earth afford

Vigour to all alike, nor yet the boughs

Have power to stretch them into open space.

Shouldst haply of the furrow's depth inquire,

Even to a shallow trench I dare commit

The vine; but deeper in the ground is fixed

The tree that props it, aesculus in chief,

Which howso far its summit soars toward heaven,

So deep strikes root into the vaults of hell.

It therefore neither storms, nor blasts, nor showers

Wrench from its bed; unshaken it abides,

Sees many a generation, many an age

Of men roll onward, and survives them all,

Stretching its titan arms and branches far,

Sole central pillar of a world of shade.

Nor toward the sunset let thy vineyards slope,

Nor midst the vines plant hazel; neither take

The topmost shoots for cuttings, nor from the top

Of the supporting tree your suckers tear;

So deep their love of earth; nor wound the plants

With blunted blade; nor truncheons intersperse

Of the wild olive: for oft from careless swains

A spark hath fallen, that, 'neath the unctuous rind

Hid thief-like first, now grips the tough tree-bole,

And mounting to the leaves on high, sends forth

A roar to heaven, then coursing through the boughs

And airy summits reigns victoriously,

Wraps all the grove in robes of fire, and gross

With pitch-black vapour heaves the murky reek

Skyward, but chiefly if a storm has swooped

Down on the forest, and a driving wind

Rolls up the conflagration. When 'tis so,

Their root-force fails them, nor, when lopped away,

Can they recover, and from the earth beneath

Spring to like verdure; thus alone survives

The bare wild olive with its bitter leaves.

Let none persuade thee, howso weighty-wise,

To stir the soil when stiff with Boreas' breath.

Then ice-bound winter locks the fields, nor lets

The young plant fix its frozen root to earth.

Best sow your vineyards when in blushing Spring

Comes the white bird long-bodied snakes abhor,

Or on the eve of autumn's earliest frost,

Ere the swift sun-steeds touch the wintry Signs,

While summer is departing. Spring it is

Blesses the fruit-plantation, Spring the groves;

In Spring earth swells and claims the fruitful seed.

Then Aether, sire omnipotent, leaps down

With quickening showers to his glad wife's embrace,

And, might with might commingling, rears to life

All germs that teem within her; then resound

With songs of birds the greenwood-wildernesses,

And in due time the herds their loves renew;

Then the boon earth yields increase, and the fields

Unlock their bosoms to the warm west winds;

Soft moisture spreads o'er all things, and the blades

Face the new suns, and safely trust them now;

The vine-shoot, fearless of the rising south,

Or mighty north winds driving rain from heaven,

Bursts into bud, and every leaf unfolds.

Even so, methinks, when Earth to being sprang,

Dawned the first days, and such the course they held;

'Twas Spring-tide then, ay, Spring, the mighty world

Was keeping: Eurus spared his wintry blasts,

When first the flocks drank sunlight, and a race

Of men like iron from the hard glebe arose,

And wild beasts thronged the woods, and stars the heaven.

Nor could frail creatures bear this heavy strain,

Did not so large a respite interpose

'Twixt frost and heat, and heaven's relenting arms

Yield earth a welcome.

For the rest, whate'er

The sets thou plantest in thy fields, thereon

Strew refuse rich, and with abundant earth

Take heed to hide them, and dig in withal

Rough shells or porous stone, for therebetween

Will water trickle and fine vapour creep,

And so the plants their drooping spirits raise.

Aye, and there have been, who with weight of stone

Or heavy potsherd press them from above;

This serves for shield in pelting showers, and this

When the hot dog-star chaps the fields with drought.

The slips once planted, yet remains to cleave

The earth about their roots persistently,

And toss the cumbrous hoes, or task the soil