38
THE FARM AND
The copper veins, the gushing flood of gold.
Our land produceth men of sterling truth,
The Marsian warrior, the Sabellian youth,
The stern Ligurian disciplined by ill,
The javelin'd Volscians,—and, more glorious still, 200
The Decii, Marii, and Camilli great,
The sons of Scipio grim in warlike state.
And paramount of all, grand Cæsar, thee,
Who now, from Asia's far extremity,
In march of triumph scarest to their home 205
The Indians quailing at the towers of Rome.
Hail, land of plenty, Saturn's loved estate,
Mother of corn, and mother of the great!
Time-honour'd fame and art my theme shall be,
Unsealing wells of holy song for thee; 210
And, through the Roman townships, I am fain
To sing the lay of Ascra o'er again.
Now room to tell of woodlands' native dower,
Their staple, colour, and conceptive power.
And first, the stubborn soils, and crabbèd gnolls,
(A hungry clay, where hillside shingle rolls,) 216
These bosky scrublands minister and cheer
The tough-lived olive to Minerva dear.
Our land produceth men of sterling truth,
The Marsian warrior, the Sabellian youth,
The stern Ligurian disciplined by ill,
The javelin'd Volscians,—and, more glorious still, 200
The Decii, Marii, and Camilli great,
The sons of Scipio grim in warlike state.
And paramount of all, grand Cæsar, thee,
Who now, from Asia's far extremity,
In march of triumph scarest to their home 205
The Indians quailing at the towers of Rome.
Hail, land of plenty, Saturn's loved estate,
Mother of corn, and mother of the great!
Time-honour'd fame and art my theme shall be,
Unsealing wells of holy song for thee; 210
And, through the Roman townships, I am fain
To sing the lay of Ascra o'er again.
Now room to tell of woodlands' native dower,
Their staple, colour, and conceptive power.
And first, the stubborn soils, and crabbèd gnolls,
(A hungry clay, where hillside shingle rolls,) 216
These bosky scrublands minister and cheer
The tough-lived olive to Minerva dear.
