Page:The Farm and Fruit of Old a translation in verse of the 1st and 2nd Georgics of Virgil, by a market-gardener (1862).djvu/63

Not rarely, too, the buoyant alder-wood
Is launch'd on Po, and swims the torrent-flood:
Not rarely, too, the bees swarm, out of ken, 540
In hollow bark, and canker'd Ilex wen.
The gifts of Bacchus, what can they produce
So rich in glory, and so full of use?
Nay, Bacchus hath been cause of crime and woe;
'Twas he who laid the raging Centaurs low, 545
Rhœtus, and Pholus, and Hylæus dread,
Who swung the bowl above the Lapith's head.
Oh, happy farmers! overblest, I wis,
If they could only realize their bliss!
For whom the earth, away from jangling strife,
In just abundance sheds the gifts of life. 551
Although no haughty castle-gates have pour'd
A flood of serfs, to hail their risen lord;
Nor gloat they on buhl columns, as they pass,
Robes shot with gold, and Ephyreän brass; 555
Nor snowy wool is daub'd with Tyrian paint,
Nor limpid oil bedrugg'd with cassia's taint:
But tranquil rest, and life too pure for harm,
A life endow'd with every simple charm, 559
But yeoman's ease, and broad lands of repose,
And grots, and lakes, where living water flows,