Page:Virgil - The Georgics, Thomas Nevile, 1767.djvu/59

 Book II. Nor then the Vine dreads Auster's threat'ning pow'r,

Or, by rough Boreas driv'n, the weighty show'r;

But all her gems, and all her leaves displays:

Such was, I trust, the brightness of the days,

In the same tenour the soft season ran,

When in it's first weak growth the world began:

Yes, spring was then: o'er the vast globe spring reign'd,

And baneful Eurus his bleak blasts restrain'd;

What time the flocks light's liquid lustre cheer'd,

And from the flinty earth with head uprear'd

Burst forth Man's iron breed, and stars were sent

To shed their radiance o'er the firmament,

And savage beasts the forest-walks to range:

Nor could Creation yet have born the change,

Had there of heat and cold no respite been,

Nor the fields foster'd by a sky serene.

Next when you force your sprigs into the ground,

Sprinkle fat dung, and heap the mould around:

In earth about them spongy pebbles hide,

Or rugged shells: between them streams will slide

To feed the feeble fibres, and diffuse

Round the young plants invigorating dews.

Nor are there now some wanting, who have thrown

Above a weight of shards and pond'rous stone, A