Page:Virgil - The Georgics, Thomas Nevile, 1767.djvu/117

 

By swains 'tis gather'd in the close-cropt meads, 325
Where Mella his meand'ring current leads:
Let the roots, boil'd in odorous wine, be plac'd
Heap'd near the door, to bees a rich repast.

But on a sudden should your stock decline,
No hopes remaining of a future line, 330
Hear now th' invention of Arcadia's Swain;
How oft from putrid gore of bullocks slain
Bees were produc'd: the whole in order told,
Trac'd from the source it's glory, I'll unfold.
Where in Canopus' happy realms reside 335
A people, custom'd o'er their fields to glide
In painted skiffs, what time, above his shores
Rising, Nile empties his redundant stores;
And where, descending from Ind's tawny sons,
The River near the quiver'd Persians runs, 340
And feeds green Ægypt with black, oozy tides,
And rushing diverse in sev'n mouths divides,
All in this art's success, the region round,
Constant confide: hence first a spot of ground,
Small and contracted, they select; the place 345
With straiten'd walls, and narrow roof, embrace:
Four windows from each quarter of the sky
With rays of glancing light the room supply:

This