Page:Virgil - The Georgics, Thomas Nevile, 1767.djvu/63

 Book II. Still he must cleave the clods, still stir the plain;

And for the ripen'd clusters dread the rain.

Not olives thus: no culture they demand:

When once they 've fixt their fibres in the land,

And once the changes of the weather born,

Harrows, and pruning hooks alike they scorn.

Open'd by drags Earth largely feeds the roots,

And furrow'd loads the bending boughs with fruits.

Thus with fat olives, lov'd of Peace, you deal:

And apples, when the sturdy trunks they feel,

Proud of strength all their own, that instant rise

Disdaining aid, and shoot into the skies.

Nor less the woods their weighty branches show,

And sylvan brakes with sanguine berries glow.

The shrub is shorn: from forests torches come,

And late fires glimmer through the nightly gloom

With streamy splendors: and does Man recoil?

Doubts he to lend his labour to the soil?

But why sublimer themes should I pursue?

To brooms and willows some regard is due;

Whence browse to cattle, shelter to the swain,

Sweets to the bee, and fences to the grain.

The pitchy groves of Naryx give delight,

And box-trees waving on Cytorus’ height: And