Page:Virgil - The Georgics, Thomas Nevile, 1767.djvu/108

 

Who, from a sandy soil escap'd, by fits
From his parcht mouth the gritty gravel spits: 110
Others with golden splendors lucid glow,
And, as they glance, with equal spangles show
Their skins bedropt: this breed prefer; from these
In season due sweet honey you shall squeeze;
Yet not so sweet, as flowing free and fine, 115
Of pow'r to tame the taste austere of wine.

But when, their treasures slighted, they repair
From their cool cells to sport in fields of air,
Soon will you check their play, if from the Kings,
A task not difficult, you strip the wings; 120
Not one will dare to fly, aw'd by their stay,
Or snatch the standards from the tents away.
Let gardens lure, where saffron flow'rs exhale
Rich odours, wafted by the scented gale;
And with his sithe Priapus guard the place, 125
Watchful of thieves, and all the feather'd race.
Their hives with thyme neglect not to surround,
And pines, transplanted from the hilly ground;
Nor blush to wear your callous hands with toil;
Set thriving trees, and water well the soil. 130

Did I not purpose soon, my wand'rings o'er,
To furl the sails, and turn the prow to shore,

Haply