Page:Virgil - The Georgics, Thomas Nevile, 1767.djvu/84

 72 Seest thou the horse? his frame what tremblings seize,

If the known scent come wafted by the breeze!

His rage nor bits, nor tort'ring whips, restrain;

Rocks interpose, and caverns yawn in vain;

Nor rivers, whirling mountains in their course,

Check, as they roll between, his frantic force.

Ev'n the Sabellian boar with grunting sound

Forth rushes, whets his fangs, and thumps the ground,

Rubs 'gainst a knotty tree each bristly side,

And hardens for th' approaching fight his hide.

What does the youth, who feeds in ev'ry vein

Love's scorching fires? all night the troubled main

Darkling he swims; from heav'n's gate thunders roll,

Seas dash'd on rocks his rash attempt control:

Not ev'n his wretched parents can dissuade,

Nor, to a sad death doom'd, the desp'rate maid.

How then are Bacchus' speckled beasts inclin'd,

Ounces? and dogs, and the keen wolfish kind?

Stags too, a timorous tribe, what wars they wage?

But above all of mares exceeds the rage;

So Venus will'd, when with jaws red with gore

The Potnian team the limbs of Glaucus tore.

Not mountains, rivers, stop their lustful flight,

Ascanius' roar, nor Garg'rus' airy height. Soon