Page:Virgil's Pastorals, Georgics and Aeneis - Dryden (1709) - volume 1.pdf/250

104 O'er gentle Fires; th' exuberant Juice to drain, And swell the flatt'ring Husks with fruitful Grain. Yet is not the Success for Years assur'd, Tho' chosen is the Seed, and fully cur'd; Unless the Peasant, with his Annual Pain, Renews his Choice, and culls the largest Grain. Thus all below, whether by Nature's Curse, Or Fates Decree, degen'rate still to worse. So the Boats brawny Crew the Current stem, And, slow advancing, struggle with the Stream: But if they slack their hands, or cease to strive, Then down the Flood with headlong haste they drive. Nor must the Ploughman less observe the Skies, When the Kidds, Dragon, and Arcturus rise, Than Saylors homeward bent, who cut their Way Thro' Helle's stormy Streights, and Oyster-breeding Sea. But when Astrea's Ballance, hung on high, Betwixt the Nights and Days divides the Sky, Then Yoke your Oxen, sow your Winter Grain; Till cold December comes with driving Rain. Lineseed [sic] and fruitful Poppy bury warm, In a dry Season, and prevent the Storm. Sow Beans and Clover in a rotten Soyl, And Millet rising from your Annual Toyl; When with his Golden Horns, in full Cariere, The Bull beats down the Barriers of the Year; And Argos and the Dog forsake the Northern Sphere.