Page:Virgil - The Georgics, Thomas Nevile, 1767.djvu/21

 Book I. Or shall I tell his caution, who, thro' fear

The weak stem sink beneath the weighty ear,

In the young blade feeds down the wanton crop,

The shoots just level with the furrows' top?

Or him why mention, who with anxious pains

From the soak'd sands the marshy moisture drains,

Chief in the changeful months, if, o'er his shores

Rising, the river lift his swelling stores;

The trenches, as they drink the reeking tide,

Steam, and a slimy deluge stretches wide?

Nor slight the mischief, tho' the cultur'd soil

Of men and beasts confess the various toil,

If cranes and wicked geese the spot invade,

And bitter succ'ry spread, or trees o'ershade.

Nor thou repine: great Jove, with tasks untry'd

To rouse man's pow'rs, an easier way deny'd;

And first bade mortals stir with art the plain,

Lest sloth should dim the splendors of his reign.

Till then to lands no limits were assign'd,

No marks; the ground unlabour'd by the hind.

To gratify each want enough was found,

While earth unask'd diffus'd her gifts around.

Jove the black serpent arm'd with deadly bane,

Taught wolves to prey, and heav'd with storms the main, Shook