When, Atlas-born, the Pleiad stars [78]arise
Before the sun above the dawning skies,
’Tis time to reap; and when they sink below
The morn-illumined west, [79]’tis time to sow.
Know too they set, immerged into the sun,
While forty days entire their circle run;
And with the lapse of the revolving year,
When sharpen’d is the sickle, re-appear.
Law of the fields, and known to every swain
Who turns the fallow soil beside the main;
Or who, remote from billowy ocean’s gales,
Tills the rich glebe of inland-winding vales.
[80]Plough naked still, and naked sow the soil,
And naked reap; if kindly to thy toil
Thou hope to gather all that Ceres yields,
And view thy crops in season crown the fields;
Lest thou to strangers’ gates penurious rove,
And every needy effort fruitless prove:
E’en as to me thou cam’st; but hope no more
That I shall give or lend thee of my store.
Oh foolish Perses! be the labours thine
Which the good gods to earthly man assign;
Lest with thy spouse, thy babes, thou vagrant ply,
And sorrowing crave those alms which all deny.
Twice may thy plaints benignant favour gain,
And haply thrice may not be pour’d in vain;
If still persisting plead thy wearying prayer,
Thy words are nought, thy eloquence is air.
Did exhortation move, the thought should be,
From debt releasement, days from hunger free.
A house, a woman, and a steer provide,
Thy slave to tend the cows, but not thy bride.
Within let all fit implements abound,
Lest with refused entreaty wandering round,
Thy wants still press, the season glide away,
And thou with scanted labour mourn the day.
Thy task defer not till the morn arise,
Or the third sun th’ unfinish’d work surprise.
[81]The idler never shall his garners fill,
Nor he that still defers and lingers still.
Lo! diligence can prosper every toil;
The loiterer strives with loss and execrates the soil.
When rests the keen strength of th’ o’erpowering sun
From heat that made the pores in rivers run;
When rushes in fresh rains autumnal Jove,
And man’s unburthen’d limbs now lightlier move;
For now the star of day with transient light
Rolls o’er our heads and joys in longer night;
When from the worm the forest boles are sound,
[82]Trees bud no more, but earthward cast around
Their withering foliage, then remember well
The timely labour, and thy timber fell.
Hew from the wood [83]a mortar of three feet;
Three cubits may the pestle’s length complete:
Seven feet the fittest axle-tree extends;
If eight the log, the eighth a mallet lends.
Cleave many curved blocks thy wheel to round,
And let three spans its outmost orbit bound;
Whereon slow-rolling thy suspended wain,
Ten spans in breadth, may traverse firm the plain.
If hill or field supply a holm-oak bough
[84]Of bending figure like the downward plough,
Bear it away: this durable remains
While the strong steers in ridges cleave the plains:
If with firm nails [85]thy artist join the whole,
Affix the share-beam, and adapt the pole.
Two ploughs provide, on household works intent,
This art-compacted, that of native bent:
A prudent fore-thought: one may crashing fail,
The other, instant yoked, shall prompt avail.
Of elm or bay the draught-pole firm endures,
The plough-tail holm, the share-beam oak secures.
Two males procure: be nine their sum of years:
Then hale and strong for toil the sturdy steers:
Nor shall they headstrong-struggling spurn the soil,
And snap the plough and mar th’ unfinish’d toil.
In forty’s prime thy ploughman: one [86]with bread
Of four-squared loaf in double portions fed.
He steadily shall cut the furrow true,
Nor towards his fellows glance a rambling view:
Still on his task intent: a stripling throws
Heedless the seed, and in one furrow strows
The lavish handful twice: while wistful stray
His longing thoughts to comrades far away.
Mark yearly when among the clouds on high
Thou hear’st [87]the shrill crane’s migratory cry,
[88]Of ploughing-time the sign and wintry rains:
Care gnaws his heart who destitute remains
Of the fit yoke: for then the season falls
To feed thy horned steers within their stalls.
Easy to speak the word, “beseech thee friend!
Thy waggon and thy yoke of oxen lend:”
Easy the prompt refusal; “nay, but I
Have need of oxen, and their work is nigh.”
[89]Rich in his own conceit, he then too late
May think to rear the waggon’s timber’d weight:
Fool! nor yet knows the complicated frame
A hundred season’d blocks may fitly claim:
[90]These let thy timely care provide before,
And pile beneath thy roof the ready store.
Improve the season: to the plough apply
Both thou and thine; and toil in wet and dry:
Haste to the field with break of glimmering morn,
That so thy grounds may wave with thickening corn.
In spring upturn the glebe: and break again
With summer tilth the iterated plain,
It shall not mock thy hopes: be last thy toil,
Raised in light ridge, to sow the fallow’d soil:
The fallow’d soil bids execration fly,
And brightens with content the infant’s eye.
[91]Jove subterrene, chaste Ceres claim thy vow,
When grasping first the handle of the plough,
O’er thy broad oxen’s backs thy quickening hand
With lifted stroke lets fall the goading wand;
Whilst yoked and harness’d by the fastening thong,
They slowly drag the draught-pole’s length along.
So shall the sacred gifts of earth appear,
And ripe luxuriance clothe the plenteous ear.
A boy should tread thy steps: with rake o’erlay
The buried seed, [92]and scare the birds away:
(Good is the apt œconomy of things
While evil management its mischief brings:)
Thus, if aërial Jove thy cares befriend,
And crown thy tillage with a prosperous end,
Shall the rich ear in fulness of its grain
Nod on the stalk and bend it to the plain.
So shalt thou sweep the spider’s films away,
That round thy hollow bins lie hid from day:
I ween, rejoicing in the foodful stores
Obtain’d at length, and laid within thy doors:
For plenteousness shall glad thee through the year
Till the white blossoms of the spring appear:
[93]Nor thou on others’ heaps a gazer be,
But others owe their borrow’d store to thee.
If, ill-advised, thou turn the genial plains
His wintry tropic when the sun attains;
Thou, then, may’st reap, and idle sit between:
Mocking thy gripe the meagre stalks are seen:
Whilst, little joyful, gather’st thou in bands
The corn whose chaffy dust bestrews thy hands.
In one scant basket shall thy harvest lie,
[94]And few shall pass thee, then, with honouring eye.
Now thus, now otherwise is Jove’s design;
To men inscrutable the ways divine:
But if thou late upturn the furrow’d field,
One happy chance a remedy may yield.
O’er the wide earth when men the cuckoo hear
From spreading oak-leaves first delight their ear,
Three days and nights let heaven in ceaseless rains
Deep as thy ox’s hoof o’erflow the plains;
So shall an equal crop thy time repair
With his who earlier launch’d the shining share.
Lay all to heart: nor let the blossom’d hours
Of spring escape thee; nor the timely showers.
Pass by [95]the brazier’s forge where loiterers meet,
Nor saunter in the portico’s throng’d heat;
When in the wintry season rigid cold
Invades the limbs and binds them in its hold.
Lo! then th’ industrious man with thriving store
Improves his household management the more:
And this do thou: lest intricate distress
Of winter seize, and needy cares oppress:
Lest, famine-smitten, thou, at length, be seen
[96]To gripe thy tumid foot with hand from hunger lean.
Pampering his empty hopes, yet needing food,
On ill designs behold the idler brood:
Sit in the crowded portico and feed
On that ill hope, while starving with his need.
Thou in mid-summer to thy labourers cry,
[97]“Make now your nests,” for summer hours will fly.
Beware the January month: beware
Those hurtful days, that keenly piercing air
Which flays the herds; [98]those frosts that bitter sheathe
The nipping air and glaze the ground beneath.
From Thracia, nurse of steeds, comes rushing forth,
O’er the broad sea, the whirlwind of the north,
And moves it with his breath: then howl the shores
Of earth, and long and loud the forest roars.
He lays the oaks of lofty foliage low,
Tears the thick pine-trees from the mountains brow
And strews the vallies with their overthrow.
He stoops to earth; shrill swells the storm around,
And all the vast wood rolls a deeper roar of sound.
The beasts their cowering tails with trembling fold,
And shrink and shudder at the gusty cold.
Thick is the hairy coat, the shaggy skin,
But that all-chilling breath shall pierce within.
Not his rough hide can then the ox avail:
The long-hair’d goat defenceless feels the gale:
Yet vain the north-wind’s rushing strength to wound
The flock, with thickening fleeces fenced around.
He bows the old man, crook’d beneath the storm;
But spares the smooth-skin’d virgin’s tender form.
[99]Yet from bland Venus’ mystic rites aloof,
She safe abides beneath her mother’s roof:
The suppling waters of the bath she swims,
[100]With shining ointment sleeks her dainty limbs:
In her soft chamber pillow’d to repose,
While through the wintry nights the tempest blows.
[101]Now gnaws the boneless polypus his feet;
Starved midst bleak rocks, his desolate retreat:
For now no more the sun with gleaming ray
Through seas transparent lights him to his prey.
O’er the swarth Æthiop rolls his bright career,
And slowly gilds the Grecian hemisphere.
And now the horned and unhorned kind
Whose lair is in the wood, sore-famish’d grind
Their sounding jaws, and froz’n and quaking fly
Where oaks the mountain dells imbranch on high:
They seek to couch in thickets of the glen,
Or lurk deep-shelter’d in the rocky den.
[102]Like aged men who, prop’d on crutches, tread
Tottering with broken strength and stooping head,
So move the beasts of earth; and creeping low
Shun the white flakes and dread the drifting snow.
I warn thee, now, around thy body cast,
A thick defence, and covering from the blast:
Let the soft cloak its woolly warmth bestow:
The under-tunic to thy ankle flow:
[103]On a scant warp a woof abundant weave;
Thus warmly wov’n the mantling cloak receive:
Nor shall thy limbs beneath its ample fold
With bristling hairs start shivering to the cold.
Shoes from the hide of [104]a strong-dying ox
Bind round thy feet; lined thick with woollen socks:
[105]And kid-skins ’gainst the rigid season sew
With sinew of the bull, and sheltering throw
Athwart thy shoulders when the rains impend;
And let [106]a well-wrought cap thy head defend,
And screen thine ears, while drenching showers descend.
Bleak is the morn, when blows the north from high;
Oft when the dawnlight paints the starry sky,
A misty cloud suspended hovers o’er
Heaven’s blessed earth with fertilizing store
Drain’d from the living streams: aloft in air
The whirling winds the buoyant vapour bear,
Resolved at eve in rain or gusty cold,
As by the north the troubled rack is roll’d.
Preventing this, the labour of the day
Accomplish’d, homeward bend thy hastening way:
Lest the dark cloud, with whelming rush deprest,
Drench thy cold limbs and soak thy dripping vest.
This winter-month with prudent caution fear:
Severe to flocks, nor less to men severe:
Feed thy keen husbandman with larger bread:
With half their provender thy steers be fed:
Them rest assists: the night’s protracted length
Recruits their vigour and supplies their strength.
This rule observe, while still the various earth
Gives every fruit and kindly seedling birth:
Still to the toil proportionate the cheer,
The day to night, and equalize the year.
When from [107]the wintry tropic of the sun
Full sixty days their finish’d round have run,
Lo! then the sacred deep Arcturus leave,
First whole-apparent on the verge of eve.
Through the grey dawn the swallow lifts her wing,
Morn-plaining bird, the harbinger of spring.
Anticipate the time: the care be thine
An earlier day to prune the shooting vine.
When the house-bearing snail is slowly found
To shun the Pleiad heats that scorch the ground,
And climb the plant’s tall stem, insist no more
To dress the vine, but give the vineyard o’er.
Whet the keen sickle, hasten every swain,
From shady booths, from morning sleep refrain;
Now, in the fervour of the harvest-day,
When the strong sun dissolves the frame away:
Now haste a-field: now bind thy sheafy corn,
And earn thy food by rising with the morn.
Lo! the third portion of thy labour’s cares
The early morn anticipating shares:
In early morn the labour swiftly wastes:
In early morn the speeded journey hastes;
The time when many a traveller tracks the plain,
And the yoked oxen bend them to the wain.
When [108]the green artichoke ascending flowers,
When, in the sultry season’s toilsome hours,
Perch’d on a branch, beneath his veiling wings
[109]The loud cicada shrill and frequent sings:
[110]Then the plump goat a savoury food bestows,
The poignant wine in mellowest flavour flows:
Wanton the blood then bounds in woman’s veins,
[111]But weak of man the heat-enfeebled reins:
Full on his brain descends the solar flame
Unnerves the languid knees, and all the frame
Exhaustive dries away: oh then be thine
To sit in shade of rocks; with [112]Byblian wine,
And goat’s milk, stinted from the kid, to slake
Thy thirst, and eat the shepherd’s creamy cake;
The flesh of new-dropt kids and youngling cows,
That, never teeming, cropp’d the forest browse.
With dainty food so saturate thy soul,
And drink the wine dark-mantling in the bowl:
While in the cool and breezy gloom reclined
Thy face is turn’d to catch the breathing wind;
And feel the freshening brook, whose living stream
Glides at thy foot with clear and sparkling gleam:
Three parts its waters in thy cup should flow,
The fourth with brimming wine may mingled glow.
When first [113]Orion’s beamy strength is born,
Let then thy labourers thresh the sacred corn:
Smooth be the level floor, [114]on gusty ground,
Where winnowing gales may sweep in eddies round.
Hoard in thy ample bins the meted grain:
And now, as I advise, [115]thy hireling swain
From forth thy house dismiss, when all the store
Of kindly food is laid within thy door:
And to thy service let a female come;
But childless, for a child were burthensome.
[116]Keep, too, a sharp-tooth’d dog, nor thrifty spare
To feed his fierceness high with generous fare:
Lest the day-slumbering thief thy nightly door
Wakeful besiege, and pilfer from thy store.
For ox and mule the yearly fodder lay
Within thy loft; the heapy straw and hay:
This care dispatch’d, refresh the bending knees
Of thy tired hinds, and give thy unyoked oxen ease.
When Sirius and Orion the mid-sky
Ascend, and [117]on Arcturus looks from high
The rosy-finger’d morn, the vintage calls:
Then bear the gather’d grapes within thy walls.
Ten days and nights exposed the clusters lay
Bask’d in the lustre of each mellowing day:
Let five their circling round successive run,
Whilst lie thy frails o’ershaded from the sun:
The sixth in vats the gifts of Bacchus press;
Of Bacchus gladdening earth with store of pleasantness.
But when beneath the skies [118]on morning’s brink
The Pleiads, Hyads, and Orion sink;
Know then the ploughing and the seed-time near:
Thus well-disposed shall glide thy rustic year.
But if thy breast with nautical desire
The perilous deep’s uncertain gains inspire,
When chased by strong Orion down the heaven
Sink the seven stars in gloomy ocean driven;
[119]Then varying winds in gustful eddies roar:
Then to [120]black ocean trust thy ships no more:
But heedful care to this my caution yield,
And, as I bid thee, labour safe the field.
Hale on firm land the ship: with stones made fast
Against the staggering force of humid-blowing blast:
Draw from its keel the peg, lest rotting rain
Suck’d in the hollow of the hold remain:
Within thy house the tackling order’d be.
And furl thy vessel’s wings that skimm’d the sea:
The well-framed rudder in the smoke suspend,
And calm and navigable seas attend.
Then launch the rapid bark: fit cargo load,
And freighted rich repass the liquid road.
Oh witness Perses! thus for honest gain,
Thus did our mutual father plough the main.
Erst, from Æolian Cuma’s distant shore,
Hither in sable ship his course he bore;
Through the wide seas his venturous way he took;
No rich revenues; prosperous ease forsook:
His wandering course from poverty began,
The visitation sent from heaven to man:
Ascra’s sad hamlet he his dwelling chose
Where nigh impending Helicon arose:
[121]In summer irksome and in winter drear,
Nor ever genial through the joyless year.
Each labour, Perses! let the seasons guide:
But o’er thy navigation chief preside:
[122]Decline a slender bark: intrust thy freight
To the strong vessel of a larger rate:
The larger cargo doubles every gain,
Let but the winds their adverse blasts restrain.
If thy rash thoughts on merchandise be placed,
Lest debts ensnare or joyless hunger waste,
Learn now the courses of the roaring sea,
Though ships and voyages are strange to me.
Ne’er [123]o’er the sea’s broad way my course I bore
Save once from Aulis to th’ Eubœan shore:
From Aulis, where the Greeks in days of yore,
The winds awaiting, kept the harbouring shore:
From sacred Greece a mighty army there
Lay bound for Troy, wide famed for women fair.
I pass’d to Chalcis, where around the grave
Of king Amphidamus, in combat brave,
His valiant sons had solemn games decreed,
And heralds loud proclaim’d full many a meed:
There, let me boast, that victor in the lay
I bore a tripod ear’d, my prize, away:
This to the maids of Helicon I vow’d
[124]Where first their tuneful inspiration flow’d.
Thus far in ships does my experience rise;
Yet bold I speak the wisdom of the skies;
Th’ inspiring Muses to my lips have given
The lore of song, and strains that breathe of heaven.
[125]When from the summer-tropic fifty days
Have roll’d, when summer’s time of toil decays:
Then is the season fair to spread the sail:
Nor then thy ship shall founder in the gale
And seas o’erwhelm the crew: unless the Power,
Who shakes the shores with waves, have will’d their mortal hour:
Or he th’ immortals’ king require their breath,
Whose hands the issues hold of life and death
For good and evil men: but now the seas
Are dangerless, and clear the calmy breeze.
Then trust the winds, and let thy vessel sweep
With all her freight the level of the deep.
But rapidly retrace thy homeward way
Nor till the season of new wine delay:
Late autumn’s torrent showers: bleak winter’s sweep:
The south-blast ruffling strong the tossing deep:
When air comes rushing in autumnal rain,
And curls with many a ridge the troubled main.
[126]Men, too, may sail in spring: when first the crow
Imprinting with light steps the sands below,
As many thinly-scatter’d leaves are seen
To clothe the fig-tree’s top with tender green.
This vernal voyage practicable seems,
And pervious are the boundless ocean-streams:
I praise it not: for thou with anxious mind
Must hasty snatch th’ occasion of the wind.
The drear event may baffle all thy care;
Yet thus, even thus, will human folly dare.
Of wretched mortals lo! the soul is gain:
But death is dreadful midst the whelming main.
These counsels lay to heart; and, warn’d by me,
Trust not thy whole precarious wealth to sea,
Tost in the hollow keel: a portion send;
Thy larger substance let the shore defend.
Wretched the losses of the ocean fall,
When on a fragile plank embark’d thy all:
And wretched when thy sheaves o’erload the wain,
And the crash’d axle spoils the scatter’d grain.
The golden mean of conduct should confine
Our every aim; be moderation thine.
Take to thy house a woman for thy bride
When in the ripeness of thy manhood’s pride:
Thrice ten thy sum of years; the nuptial prime;
Nor fall far short, nor far exceed the time.
Four years the ripening virgin should consume,
[127]And wed the fifth of her expanded bloom.
A virgin choose: and mould her manners chaste:
Chief be some neighbouring maid by thee embraced:
Look circumspect and long: lest thou be found
The merry mock of all the dwellers round.
No better lot has Providence assign’d
Than a fair woman with a virtuous mind:
Nor can a worse befall, then when thy fate
Allots a worthless, feast-contriving mate:
She, with no torch of mere material flame,
Shall burn to tinder thy care-wasted frame:
[128]Shall send a fire thy vigorous bones within,
And age unripe in bloom of years begin.
Th’ unsleeping vengeance heed of heaven on high.—
None as a friend should with a brother vie:
But if like him thou hold another dear,
Let no offences on thy side appear:
[129]Nor lie with idle tongue: if he begin
Offence of word and deed, [130]chastise his sin
Once for each act and word; but if he grieve,
And make atonement, straight his love receive:
Wretched! his friends who changes to and fro!
Let not thy face thy mind’s deep secrets show.
Be not the host of many nor of none:
The good revile not, and the wicked shun.
[131]Rebuke not want, that wastes the spirit dry;
It is the gift of blessed gods on high.
[132]Lo! the best treasure is a frugal tongue:
The lips of moderate speech with grace are hung:
The evil-speaker shall perpetual fear
Return of evil ringing in his ear.
[133]When many guests combine in common fare
Be not morose nor grudge thy liberal share:
When all contributing the feast unite,
Great is the pleasure and the cost is light.
When the libation of the morn demands
The sable wine, forbear with unwash’d hands
To lift the cup: with ear averted Jove
Shall spurn thy prayer, and every god above.
Forbear to let your water flow away
Turn’d upright tow’rds the sun’s all-seeing ray:
E’en when his splendour sets, till morn has glow’d
Take heed; nor sprinkle, as you walk, the road,
Nor the road-side; nor bare affront the sight;
For there are gods who watch and guard the night.
The holy man discreet sits decently,
And to some sheep-fold’s fenced wall draws nigh.
From rites of love unclean the hearth forbear,
Nor sit beside ungirt, for household gods are there.
Leave not the funeral feast to sow thy race;
From the gods’ banquet seek thy bride’s embrace.
Whene’er thy feet the river-ford essay,
Whose flowing current winds its limpid way,
Thy hands amidst the pleasant waters lave,
And lowly gazing on the beauteous wave
Appease the river-god: if thou perverse
Pass with unsprinkled hands, a heavy curse
Shall rest upon thee from th’ observant skies,
And after-woes retributive arise.
When in the fane [134]the feast of gods is laid,
[135]Ne’er to thy five-branch’d hand apply the blade
Of sable iron; from the fresh forbear
The dry excrescence at the board to pare.
Ne’er let thy hand the wine-filled flaggon rest
[136]Upon the goblet’s edge; th’ unwary guest
May from thy fault his own disaster drink,
For evil omens lurk around the brink.
Ne’er in the midst th’ unfinished house forego,
Lest there perch’d lonely croak the garrulous crow.
Ne’er from [137]unhallow’d vessels hasty feed,
Nor lave therein; for thou mayst rue the deed.
Set not a twelve-day or a twelve-month boy
[138]On moveless stones; they shall his strength destroy.
Ne’er in the female baths thy limbs immerse;
In its own time the guilt shall bring the curse.
Ne’er let the mystic sacrifices move
Deriding scorn; but dread indignant Jove.
Ne’er with unseemly deeds the fountains stain,
Or limpid rivers flowing to the main.
Do thus: and still with all thy dint of mind
Avoid that evil rumour of mankind;
Easy the burthen at the first to bear,
And light when lifted as impassive air;
But scarce can human strength the load convey,
Or shake th’ intolerable weight away.
Swift rumour hastes nor ever wholly dies,
But borne on nations’ tongues a very goddess flies.