Page:Virgil's Pastorals, Georgics and Aeneis - Dryden (1709) - volume 1.pdf/286

130 No Land for Seed like this, no Fields afford So large an Income to the Village Lord: No toiling Teams from Harvest-labour come So late at Night, so heavy laden home. The like of Forrest Land is understood, From whence the surly Ploughman grubs the Wood, Which had for length of Ages idle stood. Then Birds forsake the Ruines of their Seat, And flying from their Nests their Callow Young forget. The course lean Gravel, on the Mountain sides, Scarce dewy Bev'rage for the Bees provides: Nor Chalk nor crumbling Stones, the food of Snakes, That work in hollow Earth their winding Tracks. The Soil exhaling Clouds of subtile Dews, Imbibing moisture which with ease she spews; Which rusts not Iron, and whose Mold is clean, Well cloath'd with chearful Grass, and ever green, Is good for Olives and aspiring Vines; Embracing Husband Elms in am'rous twines, Is fit for feeding Cattle, fit to sowe, And equal to the Pasture and the Plough. Such is the Soil of fat Campanian Fields, Such large increase Vesuvius yields: And such a Country cou'd Acerra boast, Till Clanius overflow'd th' unhappy Coast.
 * I teach thee next the diff'ring Soils to know;

The light for Vines, the heavyer for the Plough.