While Troy in heaps of ruin lies, Rome and the Roman Capitol shall rise; The' illustrious exiles unconfined Shall triumph far and near, and rule mankind. In vain the sea's intruding tide Europe from Afric shall divide, And part the sever'd world in two: Through Afric's sands their triumphs they shall And the long train of victories pursue To Nile's yet undiscover'd head. [spread, Riches the hardy soldiers shall despise, And look on gold with undesiring eyes, Nor the disbowell'd earth explore In search of the forbidden ore; Those glittering ills conceal'd within the mine, The godlike race shall spread their arms: Till storms and tempests their pursuits confine; To build again a second Troy, If none the rash design pursue, Nor tempt the vengeance of the gods anew. And at their army's head myself will show Thrice should Apollo's self the city raise, And line it round with walls of brass, Thrice should my favourite Greeks his works confound, And hew the shining fabric to the ground; But hold, my Muse, forbear thy towering flight, The mighty strains, in lyric numbers bound, VIRGIL'S FOURTH GEORGIC, EXCEPT THE STORY OF ARISTEUS. ETHERIAL sweets shall next my Muse engage, And this, Mecænas, claims your patronage; Nor sheep, nor goats, must pasture near their stores, To spurn the dew-drops off, and bruise the rising grass; Nor must the lizard's painted brood appear, Let purling streams, and fountains edged with moss, And shallow rills run trickling through the grass: Let branching olives o'er the fountain grow, Or palms shoot up, and shade the streams below, That when the youth, led by their princes, shun The crowded hive, and sport it in the sun, Refreshing springs may tempt them from the heat, And shady coverts yield a cool retreat. Whether the neighbouring water stands or runs, For colds congeal and freeze the liquors up, And suck out clammy dews from herbs and flowers Point all their chinky lodgings round with mud, They rifle every flower, and lightly skim The crystal brook, and sip the running stream; And thus they feed their young with strange delight, And knead the yielding wax, and work the slimy sweet. But when on high you see the bees repair, If once two rival kings their right debate, And factions and cabals embroil the state, The people's actions will their thoughts declare; All their hearts tremble, and beat thick with war; Hoarse broken sounds, like trumpets' harsh alarms, Run through the hive, and call them to their arms; All in a hurry spread their shivering wings, And fit their claws, and point their angry stings; In crowds before the king's pavilion meet, And boldly challenge out the foe to fight! At last, when all the heavens are warm and fair, They rush together out, and join; the air Swarms thick, and echoes with the humming war All in a firm round cluster mix, and strow With heaps of little corps the earth below; As thick as hailstones from the floor rebound, Or shaken acorns rattle on the ground. No sense of danger can their kings control, Their little bodies lodge a mighty soul; Each obstinate in arms pursues his blow, Till shameful flight secures the routed foe: This hot dispute, and all this mighty fray, A little dust flung upward will allay. But when both kings are settled in their hive, Mark him who looks the worst, and lest he live Idle at home in ease and luxury, The lazy monarch must be doom'd to die; And reign without a rival in his throne. The kings are different; one of better note, All speck'd with gold, and many a shining spot, Looks gay, and glistens in a gilded coat; But love of ease and sloth in one prevails, That scarce his hanging paunch behind him trails. |