Page:Virgil - The Georgics, Thomas Nevile, 1767.djvu/108

 96 Who, from a sandy soil escap'd, by fits

From his parcht mouth the gritty gravel spits:

Others with golden splendors lucid glow,

And, as they glance, with equal spangles show

Their skins bedropt: this breed prefer; from these

In season due sweet honey you shall squeeze;

Yet not so sweet, as flowing free and fine,

Of pow'r to tame the taste austere of wine.

But when, their treasures slighted, they repair

From their cool cells to sport in fields of air,

Soon will you check their play, if from the Kings,

A task not difficult, you strip the wings;

Not one will dare to fly, aw'd by their stay,

Or snatch the standards from the tents away.

Let gardens lure, where saffron flow'rs exhale

Rich odours, wafted by the scented gale;

And with his sithe Priapus guard the place,

Watchful of thieves, and all the feather'd race.

Their hives with thyme neglect not to surround,

And pines, transplanted from the hilly ground;

Nor blush to wear your callous hands with toil;

Set thriving trees, and water well the soil.

Did I not purpose soon, my wand'rings o'er,

To furl the sails, and turn the prow to shore, Haply