Page:Virgil - The Georgics, Thomas Nevile, 1767.djvu/50

 

With Italy, nor Ind, nor Bactra's lands,
Nor all Panchæa with her spicy sands.
Here no fire-breathing bulls the yoke have known,
Nor in the furrows serpents' teeth been sown, 160
Nor iron harvests of mens' helms and spears
Roughen'd the fields; but crops of bearded ears,
And Bacchus' purple gifts have throng'd the ground,
And olives flourish, and herds frisk around.
Hence prances to the plain the stately steed, 165
Hence the vast victim bull, and snow-white breed,
Oft in thy stream, Clitumnus, cleans'd from stains,
Precede Rome's triumphs to the hallow'd fanes.
In strange months summer, lasting spring we see,
Sheep twice are big, twice apples load the tree. 170
No lion-brood, no tigers roam the land;
Nor pois'nous plants deceive the reaper's hand;
Nor snakes their orbs immense along the plain
Snatch, nor in such vast volumes writhe their train.
Here labour'd works, proud cities strike our eyes;
Rear'd on rough rocks there towns aerial rise; 176
Beneath old battlements, see! rivers flow:
Shall I name ocean, that above, below,
Laves her? or vaunt her lakes? thee, Larius! thee,
Benacus! foaming like a troubled sea? 180

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