Page:Virgil - The Georgics, Thomas Nevile, 1767.djvu/67

 

Some rush to battle, vex with oars the deep, 565
Or in the courts of Kings insidious creep;
For cups of gem, and quilts of Tyrian die,
Others remorseless loose each public tie:
On hoarded treasures these ecstatic gaze,
Those eye the Rostra, stupid with amaze: 570
This for the theatre's applauding roar
Sighs: with the blood of brothers sprinkled o'er
From their dear homes to exile others run,
And seek new seats beneath a distant sun.
The busy husbandman has turn'd the soil 575
With his bent ploughshare: hence his annual toil;
His country, children profit by his pains;
Hence he his herds and useful steers maintains.
No pause he knows: or teems the bounteous year
With fruits, or cattle, or the bearded ear: 580
The plenteous produce loads the furrow'd land;
The granaries burst: cold winter is at hand;
The pounding press now Sicyon's berries feel;
Glad to their sties the swine full acorn'd reel.
The woods give arbutes; autumn-fruits abound, 585
And mild grapes ripen on high sunny ground.
Their fathers' neck the fondling train embrace:
And Virtue's self protects the blameless race.

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