Page:The Farm and Fruit of Old a translation in verse of the 1st and 2nd Georgics of Virgil, by a market-gardener (1862).djvu/56

Let none tell you, however much he knows,
To stir the stiff soil when the north wind blows:
Then winter bars the field, forbidding e'en
The seed to strike its frozen root between.
For planting vines, the blush of Spring is best,
When comes the white bird whom the snakes detest; 381
Or first autumnal cold, when halts the sun
On Winter's verge, and Summer's course is run.
So Spring befriends the forest and the mead,
In Spring the plump earth craves the vital seed:
Then Air, almighty father, raining life, 386
Sinks on the bosom of his laughing wife;
All growth he feeds, commingling with the same,
The mighty Spirit in the mighty frame.
Then birds make music to the pathless groves, 390
And herds and flocks prove faithful to their loves:
The kind earth gives her increase, and the West
With fluttering warmth unzones the meadow's breast.
Soft dew is shed on all, and flowers are won
To trust their beauty to the stranger sun. 395
No more the vine-branch fears the southern squall,
Or showers that do the northern blast forestall;