Page:Virgil - The Georgics, Thomas Nevile, 1767.djvu/88

 76 Where'er of ancient growth Jove's tree is found,

Stretching with ample sweep his arms around,

Or blackest grove of thick'ning holm-oaks made

Frowns with the horrors of a sacred shade.

Soon as the Sun sinks downward in the main,

Give them sweet water, and fresh food again,

What time cool Hesperus thro' temper'd skies

Gleams, and the Moon refreshing dews supplies,

On vocal brambles linnets tune their throats,

And the shores echo with the halcyons' notes.

Why sing of Libyan pastures, Libyan swains,

And huts wide-straggling in thin-peopled plains?

Oft day and night, a whole long month, flocks stray

Grazing, unstall'd, a dreary length of way;

Prospect immense! his all their Afric guide

Carries; his dog, his quiver by his side,

His house, his weapons, and domestic God:

As when, lab'ring beneath a cumbrous load,

March the keen Romans arm'd; their tents they rear,

And unawares before the foe appear.

Not so the race, who dwell in Scythian lands,

Where creeps Mæotis' wave, o'er yellow sands

Where foamy Ister's turbid torrents roll,

And, stretcht in length beneath the middle pole, Proud