第9章 GEORGIC II(4)

Nor toward the sunset let thy vineyards slope, Nor midst the vines plant hazel; neither take The topmost shoots for cuttings, nor from the top Of the supporting tree your suckers tear;So deep their love of earth; nor wound the plants With blunted blade; nor truncheons intersperse Of the wild olive: for oft from careless swains A spark hath fallen, that, 'neath the unctuous rind Hid thief-like first, now grips the tough tree-bole, And mounting to the leaves on high, sends forth A roar to heaven, then coursing through the boughs And airy summits reigns victoriously, Wraps all the grove in robes of fire, and gross With pitch-black vapour heaves the murky reek Skyward, but chiefly if a storm has swooped Down on the forest, and a driving wind Rolls up the conflagration. When 'tis so, Their root-force fails them, nor, when lopped away, Can they recover, and from the earth beneath Spring to like verdure; thus alone survives The bare wild olive with its bitter leaves.

Let none persuade thee, howso weighty-wise, To stir the soil when stiff with Boreas' breath.

Then ice-bound winter locks the fields, nor lets The young plant fix its frozen root to earth.

Best sow your vineyards when in blushing Spring Comes the white bird long-bodied snakes abhor, Or on the eve of autumn's earliest frost, Ere the swift sun-steeds touch the wintry Signs, While summer is departing. Spring it is Blesses the fruit-plantation, Spring the groves;In Spring earth swells and claims the fruitful seed.

Then Aether, sire omnipotent, leaps down With quickening showers to his glad wife's embrace, And, might with might commingling, rears to life All germs that teem within her; then resound With songs of birds the greenwood-wildernesses, And in due time the herds their loves renew;Then the boon earth yields increase, and the fields Unlock their bosoms to the warm west winds;Soft moisture spreads o'er all things, and the blades Face the new suns, and safely trust them now;The vine-shoot, fearless of the rising south, Or mighty north winds driving rain from heaven, Bursts into bud, and every leaf unfolds.

Even so, methinks, when Earth to being sprang, Dawned the first days, and such the course they held;'Twas Spring-tide then, ay, Spring, the mighty world Was keeping: Eurus spared his wintry blasts, When first the flocks drank sunlight, and a race Of men like iron from the hard glebe arose, And wild beasts thronged the woods, and stars the heaven.

Nor could frail creatures bear this heavy strain, Did not so large a respite interpose 'Twixt frost and heat, and heaven's relenting arms Yield earth a welcome.

For the rest, whate'er The sets thou plantest in thy fields, thereon Strew refuse rich, and with abundant earth Take heed to hide them, and dig in withal Rough shells or porous stone, for therebetween Will water trickle and fine vapour creep, And so the plants their drooping spirits raise.

Aye, and there have been, who with weight of stone Or heavy potsherd press them from above;This serves for shield in pelting showers, and this When the hot dog-star chaps the fields with drought.

The slips once planted, yet remains to cleave The earth about their roots persistently, And toss the cumbrous hoes, or task the soil With burrowing plough-share, and ply up and down Your labouring bullocks through the vineyard's midst, Then too smooth reeds and shafts of whittled wand, And ashen poles and sturdy forks to shape, Whereby supported they may learn to mount, Laugh at the gales, and through the elm-tops win From story up to story.

Now while yet The leaves are in their first fresh infant growth, Forbear their frailty, and while yet the bough Shoots joyfully toward heaven, with loosened rein Launched on the void, assail it not as yet With keen-edged sickle, but let the leaves alone Be culled with clip of fingers here and there.

But when they clasp the elms with sturdy trunks Erect, then strip the leaves off, prune the boughs;Sooner they shrink from steel, but then put forth The arm of power, and stem the branchy tide.

Hedges too must be woven and all beasts Barred entrance, chiefly while the leaf is young And witless of disaster; for therewith, Beside harsh winters and o'erpowering sun, Wild buffaloes and pestering goats for ay Besport them, sheep and heifers glut their greed.

Nor cold by hoar-frost curdled, nor the prone Dead weight of summer upon the parched crags, So scathe it, as the flocks with venom-bite Of their hard tooth, whose gnawing scars the stem.

For no offence but this to Bacchus bleeds The goat at every altar, and old plays Upon the stage find entrance; therefore too The sons of Theseus through the country-side-Hamlet and crossway- set the prize of wit, And on the smooth sward over oiled skins Dance in their tipsy frolic. Furthermore The Ausonian swains, a race from Troy derived, Make merry with rough rhymes and boisterous mirth, Grim masks of hollowed bark assume, invoke Thee with glad hymns, O Bacchus, and to thee Hang puppet-faces on tall pines to swing.

Hence every vineyard teems with mellowing fruit, Till hollow vale o'erflows, and gorge profound, Where'er the god hath turned his comely head.

Therefore to Bacchus duly will we sing Meet honour with ancestral hymns, and cates And dishes bear him; and the doomed goat Led by the horn shall at the altar stand, Whose entrails rich on hazel-spits we'll roast.

This further task again, to dress the vine, Hath needs beyond exhausting; the whole soil Thrice, four times, yearly must be cleft, the sod With hoes reversed be crushed continually, The whole plantation lightened of its leaves.

Round on the labourer spins the wheel of toil, As on its own track rolls the circling year.

Soon as the vine her lingering leaves hath shed, And the chill north wind from the forests shook Their coronal, even then the careful swain Looks keenly forward to the coming year, With Saturn's curved fang pursues and prunes The vine forlorn, and lops it into shape.