Page:Virgil - The Georgics, Thomas Nevile, 1767.djvu/90

 78 Stir them with fears; by some near hand they're slain,

Pushing against th' opposing pile in vain,

And braying sad: the crew with clamorous cries

Glad to their home convey the prostrate prize.

In subterranean caves the Natives, freed

From all alarms, a life of leisure lead;

Oaks, and whole elms, roll'd on the hearth, they raise

In heaps, and set the sewel in a blaze,

And, while the night to pleasure they consign,

With barm and acid berries mimic wine.

Such are the men, unconscious of control,

Who freeze beneath the Hyperborean pole,

Beat by Riphæan winds, and wrapt in vests,

Tawny and rough, the spoils of shaggy beasts.

If wool engage you, shun the prickly wood,

Caltrops and burs, and fly a joyous food:

With soft white fleeces choose your bleating care;

But, should the master-ram be e'er so fair,

In his moist mouth if a black tongue be seen,

Instant reject him, and from all the green

Search out another, lest the first deface

With dusk the whiteness of the future race.

'Twas thus, if tales may safely be believ'd,

Arcadian Pan, thee, Luna! once deceiv'd, Lur'd