第13章 GEORGIC III(2)

No stop, no stay; the dun sand whirls aloft;They reek with foam-flakes and pursuing breath;So sweet is fame, so prized the victor's palm.

'Twas Ericthonius first took heart to yoke Four horses to his car, and rode above The whirling wheels to victory: but the ring And bridle-reins, mounted on horses' backs, The Pelethronian Lapithae bequeathed, And taught the knight in arms to spurn the ground, And arch the upgathered footsteps of his pride.

Each task alike is arduous, and for each A horse young, fiery, swift of foot, they seek;How oft so-e'er yon rival may have chased The flying foe, or boast his native plain Epirus, or Mycenae's stubborn hold, And trace his lineage back to Neptune's birth.

These points regarded, as the time draws nigh, With instant zeal they lavish all their care To plump with solid fat the chosen chief And designated husband of the herd:

And flowery herbs they cut, and serve him well With corn and running water, that his strength Not fail him for that labour of delight, Nor puny colts betray the feeble sire.

The herd itself of purpose they reduce To leanness, and when love's sweet longing first Provokes them, they forbid the leafy food, And pen them from the springs, and oft beside With running shake, and tire them in the sun, What time the threshing-floor groans heavily With pounding of the corn-ears, and light chaff Is whirled on high to catch the rising west.

This do they that the soil's prolific powers May not be dulled by surfeiting, nor choke The sluggish furrows, but eagerly absorb Their fill of love, and deeply entertain.

To care of sire the mother's care succeeds.

When great with young they wander nigh their time, Let no man suffer them to drag the yoke In heavy wains, nor leap across the way, Nor scour the meads, nor swim the rushing flood.

In lonely lawns they feed them, by the course Of brimming streams, where moss is, and the banks With grass are greenest, where are sheltering caves, And far outstretched the rock-flung shadow lies.

Round wooded Silarus and the ilex-bowers Of green Alburnus swarms a winged pest-Its Roman name Asilus, by the Greeks Termed Oestros- fierce it is, and harshly hums, Driving whole herds in terror through the groves, Till heaven is madded by their bellowing din, And Tanager's dry bed and forest-banks.

With this same scourge did Juno wreak of old The terrors of her wrath, a plague devised Against the heifer sprung from Inachus.

From this too thou, since in the noontide heats 'Tis most persistent, fend thy teeming herds, And feed them when the sun is newly risen, Or the first stars are ushering in the night.

But, yeaning ended, all their tender care Is to the calves transferred; at once with marks They brand them, both to designate their race, And which to rear for breeding, or devote As altar-victims, or to cleave the ground And into ridges tear and turn the sod.

The rest along the greensward graze at will.

Those that to rustic uses thou wouldst mould, As calves encourage and take steps to tame, While pliant wills and plastic youth allow.

And first of slender withies round the throat Loose collars hang, then when their free-born necks Are used to service, with the self-same bands Yoke them in pairs, and steer by steer compel Keep pace together. And time it is that oft Unfreighted wheels be drawn along the ground Behind them, as to dint the surface-dust;Then let the beechen axle strain and creak 'Neath some stout burden, whilst a brazen pole Drags on the wheels made fast thereto. Meanwhile For their unbroken youth not grass alone, Nor meagre willow-leaves and marish-sedge, But corn-ears with thy hand pluck from the crops.

Nor shall the brood-kine, as of yore, for thee Brim high the snowy milking-pail, but spend Their udders' fullness on their own sweet young.

But if fierce squadrons and the ranks of war Delight thee rather, or on wheels to glide At Pisa, with Alpheus fleeting by, And in the grove of Jupiter urge on The flying chariot, be your steed's first task To face the warrior's armed rage, and brook The trumpet, and long roar of rumbling wheels, And clink of chiming bridles in the stall;Then more and more to love his master's voice Caressing, or loud hand that claps his neck.

Ay, thus far let him learn to dare, when first Weaned from his mother, and his mouth at times Yield to the supple halter, even while yet Weak, tottering-limbed, and ignorant of life.

But, three years ended, when the fourth arrives, Now let him tarry not to run the ring With rhythmic hoof-beat echoing, and now learn Alternately to curve each bending leg, And be like one that struggleth; then at last Challenge the winds to race him, and at speed Launched through the open, like a reinless thing, Scarce print his footsteps on the surface-sand.

As when with power from Hyperborean climes The north wind stoops, and scatters from his path Dry clouds and storms of Scythia; the tall corn And rippling plains 'gin shiver with light gusts;A sound is heard among the forest-tops;Long waves come racing shoreward: fast he flies, With instant pinion sweeping earth and main.

A steed like this or on the mighty course Of Elis at the goal will sweat, and shower Red foam-flakes from his mouth, or, kindlier task, With patient neck support the Belgian car.

Then, broken at last, let swell their burly frame With fattening corn-mash, for, unbroke, they will With pride wax wanton, and, when caught, refuse Tough lash to brook or jagged curb obey.

But no device so fortifies their power As love's blind stings of passion to forefend, Whether on steed or steer thy choice be set.

Ay, therefore 'tis they banish bulls afar To solitary pastures, or behind Some mountain-barrier, or broad streams beyond, Or else in plenteous stalls pen fast at home.

For, even through sight of her, the female wastes His strength with smouldering fire, till he forget Both grass and woodland. She indeed full oft With her sweet charms can lovers proud compel To battle for the conquest horn to horn.