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Ere the licentious youth be thus restrain'd,
Or moral precepts on their minds have gain'd,
Their wanton appetites not only feed
With delicates of leaves, and marshy weed,
But with thy sickle reap the rankest land,
And minister the blade with bounteous hand:
Nor be with harmful parsimony won
To follow what our homely sires have done,
Who fill'd the pail with beastings of the cow;
But all her udder to the calf allow.

If to the warlike steed thy studies bend,
Or for the prize in chariots to contend,
Near Pisa's flood the rapid wheels to guide,
Or in Olympian groves aloft to ride,
The gen'rous labours of the coursers, first,

Or bred to Belgian wagons, leads the way, Untir'd at night, and cheerful all the day. When once he's broken, feed him full and high;

Indulge his growth, and his gaunt sides supply,
Before his training, keep him poor and low;
For his stout stomach with his food will grow :
The pamper'd colt will discipline disdain,
Impatient of the lash, and restiff to the reign.
Wouldst thou their courage and their strength
improve?

Too soon they must not feel the stings of love.
Whether the bull or courser be thy care,
Let him not leap the cow, or mount the mare.
The youthful bull must wander in the wood,
Behind the mountain or beyond the flood,
Or in the stall at home his fodder find,
Far from the charms of that alluring kind.
With two fair eyes his mistress burns his breast,
He looks, and languishes, and leaves his rest
Forsakes his food, and pining for the lass,
Is joyless of the grove, and spurns the growing
grass.

The soft seducer, with enticing looks,
The bellowing rivals to the fight provokes.

A beauteous heifer in the wood is bred:

Must be with sight of arms and sound of The stooping warriors aiming head to head,

trumpets nurs'd;

Inur'd the groaning axle-tree to bear;
And let him clashing whips in stables hear.
Soothe him with praise, and make him under-

stand

The loud applauses of his master's hand:
This, from his weaning, let him well be taught;
And then betimes, in a soft snaffle wrought,
Before his tender joints with nerves are knit,
Untried in arms, and trembling at the bit.
But when to four full springs his years ad-
vance,

Teach him to run the round, with pride to prance,
And (rightly manag'd) equal time to beat,
To turn, to bound and measure, and curvet.
Let him to this, with easy pains, be brought,
And seem to labour, when he labours not.
Thus form'd for speed, he challenges the wind,
And leaves the Scythian arrow far behind:
He scours along the field, with loosen'd reins,
And treads so light, he scarcely prints the
plains;

Like Boreas in his race, when rushing forth,
He sweeps the skies, and clears the cloudy north,
The waving Farvest bends beneath his blast;
The forest shakes; the groves their honours
cast;

He flies aloft, and with impetuous roar
Pursues the foaming surges to the shore.
Thus o'er th' Elean plains, thy well-breath'd
horse

Impels the flying car, and wins the course,

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Engage their clashing horns: with dreadful

sound

The forest rattles, and the rocks rebound. They fence, they push, and, pushing, loudly

roar:

Their dew-laps and their sides are bath'd in gore.

Nor, when the war is over, is it peace;
Nor will the vanquish'd bull his claim release;
But feeding in his breast his ancient fires,
And cursing fate, from his proud foe retires.
Driv'n from his native land to foreign grounds,
He with a gen'rous rage resents his wounds,
His ignominious flight, the victor's boast,
And more than both, the loves, which unreveng'd
he lost.

Often he turns his eyes, and with a groan,
Surveys the pleasing kingdoms, once his own,
And therefore to repair his strength he tries,
Hard'ning his limbs with painful exercise;
And rough upon the flinty rock he lies.
On prickly leaves and on sharp herbs he feeds,
Then to the prelude of a war proceeds.
His horns, yet sore, he tries against a tree,
And meditates his absent enemy.
He snuffs the wind; his heels the sand excite
But, when he stands collected in his might,
He roars and promises a more successful fight.
Then, to redeem his honour at a bow
He moves his camp, to meet his careless foe.
Not with more madness, rolling from afar
The spumy waves proclaim the wat'ry war,

And mounting upwards, with a mighty roar,
March onwards, and insult the rocky shore..
They mate the middle region with their height,
And fall no less than with a mountain's weight;
The waters boil, and, belching, from below
Black sands, as from a forceful engine throw.
Thus ev'ry creature, and of ev'ry kind,
The secret joys of sweet coition find.
Not only man's imperial race, but they
That wing the liquid air, or swim the sea,
Or haunt the desert, rush into the flame:
For love is lord of all, and is in all the same.

'Tis with this rage, the mother-lion stung,
Scours o'er the plain, regardless of her young:
Demanding rites of love, she sternly stalks,
And hunts her lover in his lonely walks.
'Tis then the shapeless bear his den forsakes;
In woods, and fields, a wild destruction makes;
Boars whet their tusks; to battle tigers move,
Enrag'd with hunger, more enrag'd with love.
Then wo to him, that, in the desert land
Of Libya, travels o'er the burning sand!
The stallion snuffs the well known scent afar,
And snorts and trembles for the distant mare:
Nor bits nor bridles can his rage restrain;
And rugged rocks are interpos'd in vain :
He makes his way o'er mountains, and con-

temns

Unruly torrents, and unforded streams.

The bristled boar, who feels the pleasing wound, New grinds his armed tusks, and digs the ground.

The sleepy lecher shuts his little eyes;
About his churning chaps the frothy bubbles
rise :

He rubs his sides against a tree; prepares
And hardens both his shoulders for the wars.
What did the youth, when Love's unerring dart.
Transfix'd his liver, and inflam'd his heart?
Alone, by night, his watery way he took:
About him, and above, the billows broke:
The sluices of the sky were open spread;
And rolling thunder rattled o'er his head.
The raging tempest call'd him back in vain,
And ev'ry boding omen of the main :
Nor could his kindred, nor the kindly force
Of weeping parents, change his fatal course;
No, not the dying maid, who must deplore
His floating carcass on the Sestian shore.

I pass the wars that spotted lynxes make With their fierce rivals for the female's sake, The howling wolves', the mastiffs' am'rous rage;

When e'en the fearful stag dares for his hind

engage.

But, far above the rest, the furious mare, Barr'd from the male, is frantic with despair: For, when her pouting vent declares her pain, She tears the harness, and she rends the rein.

For this, (when Venus gave them rage and pow'r)

Their master's mangled members they devour,
Of love defrauded in their longing hour.
For love, they force through thickets of the
wood,

They climb the steepy hills, and stem the flood.
When, at the spring's approach, their marrow

burns,

(For with the spring their genial warmth returns) The mares to cliffs of rugged rocks repair, And with wide nostrils snuff the western air: When (wondrous to relate) the parent wind, Without the stallion propagates the kind. Then, fir'd with am'rous rage, they take their flight

Thro' plains, and mount the hills' unequal'

height;

Nor to the north, nor to the rising sun,
Nor southward to the rainy regions, run,
But boring to the west, and hov'ring there,
With gaping mouths they draw prolific air,
With which impregnate, from their groins they
shed,

A slimy juice, by false conception bred.
The shepherd knows it well, and calls by

name

Hippomanes, to note the mother's flame.
This, gather'd in the planetary hour,
With noxious weeds, and spell'd with words of
pow'r,

Dire stepdames in the magic bowl infuse,
And mix, for deadly draughts, the pois'nous
juice.

But time is lost, which never will renew, While we too far the pleasing path pursue, Surveying nature with too nice a view. Let this suffice for herds our following care Shall woolly flocks and shaggy goats declare. Nor can I doubt what toil I must bestow, To raise my subject from a grounu so low; And the mean matter which my theme affords, T' erubellish with magnificence of words. But the commanding muse my chariot guides, Which o'er the dubious cliff securely rides : And pleas'd I am, no beaten road to take, But first the way to new discov'ries make. Now, sacred Pales, in a lofty strán I sing the rural honours of thy reign. First, with assiduous care, from winter keep, Well-fodder'd in the stalls, thy tender sheep: Then spread with straw the bedding of thy fold,

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Feed them with winter-browse; and, for their When linnets fill the woods with tuneful sound,

lair,

A cote, that opens to the south, prepare; Where basking in the sunshine they may lie, And the short remnants of his heat enjoy. This during winter's drizzly reign be done, Till the new Ram receives the exalted sun: For hairy goats of equal profit are

With woolly sheep, and ask an equal care.
'Tis true, the fleece, when drunk with Tyrian
juice,

Is dearly sold: but not for needful use:
For the salacious goat increases more,
And twice as largely yields her milky store.
The still distended udders never fail,
But, when they seem exhausted, swell the pail.
Meantime the pastor shears their hoary beards,
And eases of their hair the loaden herds.
Their cam❜lots, warm in tents, the soldier hold,
And shield the shiv'ring mariner from cold.

On shrubs they browse, and, on the bleaky top Of rugged hills, the thorny bramble crop. Attended with their bleating kids, they come At night, unask'd, and mindful of their home; And scarce their swelling bags the threshold

overcome.

So much the more thy diligence bestow
In depth of winter to defend the snow,
By how much less the tender helpless kind,
For their own ills, can fit provision find.
Then minister the browse with bounteous
hand;

And open let thy stacks all winter stand.

But, when the western winds with vital pow'r Call forth the tender grass and budding flow'r, Then, at the last, produce in open air

Both flocks; and send them to their summer fare.

Before the sun while Hesperus appears,
First let them sip from herbs the pearly tears
Of morning dews, and after break their fast
On green-sward ground-a cool and grateful

taste.

But, when the day's fourth hour has drawn the dews,

And the sun's sultry heat their thirst renews; When creaking grasshoppers on shrubs complain,

Then lead them to their watering-troughs again.
In suminer's heat, some bending valley find,
Clos'd from the sun, but open to the wind;
Or seek some ancient oak, whose arms extend
In ample breadth, thy cattle to defend,
Or solitary grove, or gloomy glade,
To shield them with its venerable shade.
Once more to wat'ring lead; and feed again
When the low sun is sinking to the main,
When rising Cynthia sheds her silver dews,
And the cool evening-breeze the meads renews.

And hollow shores the halcyon's voice rebound. Why should my muse enlarge on Libyan

swains,

Their scatter'd cottages, and ample plains,
Where oft the flocks without a leader stray,
Or through continu'd deserts take their way,
And, feeding, add the length of night to day?
Whole months they wander, grazing as they
go;

Nor folds, nor hospitable harbour know.
Such an extent of plains, so vast a space
Of wilds unknown, and of untasted grass,
Allures their eyes; the shepherd last appears,
And with him all his patrimony bears,
His house and household gods, his trade of

war,

His bow and quiver, and his trusty cur.
Thus, under heavy arms, the youth of Rome
Their long laborious marches overcome,
Cheerly their tedious travels undergo,
And pitch their sudden camp before the foe.

Not so the Scythian shepherd tends his fold, Nor he who bears in Thrace the bitter cold, Nor he who treads the bleak Mæotian strand, Or where proud Ister rolls his yellow sand. Early they stall their flocks and herds; for there No grass the fields, no leaves the forests,

wear;

The frozen earth lies buried there, below
A hilly heap, sev'n cubits deep in snow :
And all west allies of stormy Boreas blow.
The sun from far peeps with a sickly face,
Too weak, the clouds and mighty fogs to chase,
When up the skies he shoots his rosy head,
Or in the ruddy ocean seeks his bed.
Swift rivers are with sudden ice constrain'd
And studded wheels are on its back sustain'd,
A hostry now for wagons, which before
Tall ships of burden on its bosom bore.
The brazen caldrons with the frosts are flaw'd;
The garments, stiff with ice, at hearths is
thaw'd.

With axes first they cleave the vine; and thence,

By weight, the solid portions they dispense. From locks uncomb'd, and from the frozen beard,

Long icicles depend, and crackling sounds are heard.

Meantime, perpetual sleet and driving snow
Obscure the skies, and hang on herds below,
The starving cattle perish in their stalls;
Huge oxen stand enclos'd in wintry walls
Of snow congeal'd; whole herds are buried
there,

Of mighty stags, and scarce their horns appear.
The dext'rous huntsman wounds not these afar
With shafts or darts, or makes a distant war

With dogs, or pitches toils to stop their flight, But close engages in unequal fight;

And, while they strive in vain to make their way

Through hills of snow, and pitifully bray,
Assaults with dint of sword, or pointed spears,
And homeward, on his back, the joyful burden
bears.

The men to subterranean caves. retire,
Secure from cold, and crowd the cheerful fire:
With trunks of elms and oaks the hearth they
load,

Nor tempt th' inclemency of heaven abroad.
Their jovial nights in frolics and in play
They pass, to drive the tedious hours away;
And their cold stomachs with crown'd goblets,
cheer

Of windy cider, and of barmy beer.
Such are the cold Rhipœan race, and such
The savage Scythian, and unwarlike Dutch,
Where skins of beasts the rude barbarians
wear,

The spoils of foxes, and the furry bear.

Is wool thy care? Let not thy cattle go Where bushes are, where burs and thistles grow:

Nor in too rank a pasture let them feed: Then of the purest white select thy breed: E'en though a snowy ram thou shalt behold, Prefer him not in haste, for husband to thy fold: [tongue But search his mouth; and, if a swarthy Is underneath his humid palate hung, Reject him, lest he darken all the flock; And substitute another from thy stock. 'Twas thus, with fleeces milky white, (if we May trust report) Pan, god of Arcady, Did bribe thee, Cynthia; nor didst thou disdain, When call'd in woody shades, to cure a lover's pain.

If milk be thy design, with plenteous hand Bring clover-grass; and from the marshy land Salt herbage for the fodd'ring rack provide, To fill their bags, and swell the milky tide. These raise their thirst, and to the taste restore The savour of the salt, on which they fed before. Some, when the kids their dams too deeply drain,

With gags and muzzles their soft mouths re

strain.

Their morning milk the peasants press at night;
Their ey'ning meal before the rising light,
To market bear; or sparingly they steep
With seas'ning salt, and stor❜d for winter keep.
Nor, last, forget thy faithful dogs: but feed
With fatt'ning whey the mastiff's gen'rous
breed,

And Spartan race, who, for the fold's relief,
Will prosecute with cries the nightly thief,

Repulse the prowling wolf, and hold at bay
The mountain robbers rushing to the prey.
With cries of hounds, thou may'st pursue the fear
Of flying hares, and chase the fallow deer,
Rouse from their desert dens the bristled rage
Of boars, and beamy stags in toils engage.
With smoke of burning cedar scent thy wails,
And fume with stinking galbanum thy stalls,
With that rank odour from thy dwelling-place
To drive the viper's brood and all the venom'd

race:

For often, under stalls unmov'd, they lie, Obscure in shades, and shunning heav'n's broad

eye:

And snakes, familiar, to the hearth succeed, Disclose their eggs, and near the chimney breed

Whether to roofy houses they repair,
Or sun themselves abroad in open air,
In all abodes of pestilential kind
To sheep and oxen, and the painful hind.
Take, shepherd, take a plant of stubborn oak,
And labour him with many a sturdy stroke,
Or with hard stones demolish from afar
His haughty crest, the seat of all the war;
Invade his hissing throat, and winding spires,
Till, stretch'd in length, th' unfolded foe retires.
He drags his tail, and for his head provides,
And in some secret cranny slowly glides;
But leaves expos'd to blows his back and batter'd
sides.

In fair Calabria's woods a snake is bred,
With curling crest, and with advancing head:
Waving he rolls, and makes a winding track
His belly spotted, burnish'd is his back.
While springs are broken, while the southern
air,

[pair,

And dropping heav'ns the moisten'd earth reHe lives on standing lakes and trembling bogs, And fills his maw with fish, or with loquacious

frogs:

But when, in muddy pools, the water sinks,
And the chapt earth is furrow'd o'er with chinks,
He leaves the fens, and leaps upon the ground,
And, hissing, rolls his glaring eyes around.
With thirst inflam'd, impatient of the heats,
He rages in the fields, and wide destruction
threats.

Oh! let not sleep my closing eyes invade
In open plains, or in the secret shade,
When he, renew'd in all the speckled pride
Of pompous youth, has cast his slough aside,
And in his summer liv'ry rolls along,
Erect, and brandishing his forky tongue,
Leaving his nest, and his imperfect young,
And thoughtless of his eggs, forgets to rear
The hopes of poison for the following year.

The causes and the signs shall next be told, Of ev'ry sickness that infects the fold.

A scabber tetter on their pelts will stick, When the raw rain has pierc'd them to the quick,

Or searching frosts have eaten through the skin, Or burning icicles are lodg'd within:

Or, when the fleece is shorn, if sweat remains Unwash'd, and soaks into their empty veins; When their defenceless limbs the brambles tear, Short of their wool, and naked from the shear. Good shepherds, after shearing, drench their sheep;

And their flock's father (forc'd from high to leap) Swims down the stream, and plunges in the deep.

They oint their naked limbs with mother'd oil;
Or, from the founts where living sulphurs boil;
They mix a med'cine to foment their limbs,
With scum that on the molten silver swims";
Fat pitch, and black bitumen, add to these,
Besides the waxen labour of the bees,
And hellebore, and squills deep rooted in the

- seas.

Receipts abound; but, searching all thy store,
The best is still at hand, to lance the sore,
And cut the head; for, till the core be found,
The secret vice is fed, and gathers ground,
While, making fruitless moan, the shepherd
stands,

And, when the lancing knife requires his hands,
Vain help, with idle prayr's, from heav'n de-

mands.

Deep in their bones when fevers fix their seat,
And rack their limbs, and lick the vital heat.
The ready cure to cool the raging pain
Is underneath the foot to breathe a vein.
This remedy the Scythian shepherds found:
Th' inhabitants of Thracia's hilly ground,
And Gelons, use it, when for drink and food
They mix their curdled milk with horses' blood.
But, where thou seest a single sheep remain
In shades aloof, or couch'd upon the plain,
Or listlessly to crop the tender grass,
Or late to lag behind with truant pace;
Revenge the crime, and take the traitor's head,
Ere in the faultless flock the dire contagion
spread.

On winter seas we fewer storms behold,
Than foul diseases that infect the fold.
Nor do those ills on single bodies prey,
But oft'ner bring the nation to decay, [away.
And sweep the present stock and future hope
A dire example of this truth appears,
When, after such a length of rolling years,
We see the naked Alps, and thin remains
Of scatter'd cots, and yet unpeopled plains,
Once fill'd with grazing flocks, the shepherds'
happy reigns.

Here, from the vicious air and sickly skies, A plague did on the dumb creation rise:

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Sunk of himself, without the gods' command,
Preventing the slow sacrificer's hand.
Or, by the holy butcher if he fell,

Th' inspected entrails could no fates foretell :
Nor, laid on altars, did pure flames arise;
But clouds of smould❜ring smoke forbade the
sacrifice.

Scarcely the knife was redden'd with his gore,
Or the black poison stain'd the sandy floor.
The thriven calves in meads their food forsake,
And render their sweet souls before the plen-
téous rack.

The fawning dog runs mad; the wheezing swine

With coughs is chok'd, and labours from the chine :

The victor horse, forgetful of his food,
The palm renounces, and abhors the flood.
He paws the ground; and on his hanging ears
A doubtful sweat in clammy drops appears:
Parch'd is his hide, and rugged are his hairs.
Such are the symptoms of the young disease;
But, in time's process, when his pains increase,
He rolls his mournful eyes: he deeply groans
With patient sobbing, and with manly moans.
He heaves for breath; which, from his lungs
supplied.

And fetch'd from far, distends his lab'ring side.
To his rough palate his dry tongue succeeds:
And ropy gore he from his nostrils bleeds.

A drench of wine has with success been us'd,
And through a horn the gen'rous juice infus'd,
Which, timely taken, op'd his closing jaws,
But, if too late, the patient's death did cause:
For the too vig'rous dose too fiercely wrought,
And added fury to the strength it brought.
Recruited into rage, he grinds his teeth
In his own flesh, and feels approaching death.
Ye gods, to better fate good men dispose,
And turn that impious error on our fues!

The steer, who to the yoke was bred to bow (Studious of tillage, and the crooked plough)

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