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/64

Cool Tempe's glade, and sleep beneath the trees,
And lowing kine—no lack have they of these.
Here are the woodlands, and the wild beast's lair,
And youth robust, content with humble fare; 565
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$God hath his honour, holy age its charm;
When Justice fled this world of sin and harm,
She left her last footprint upon the farm.
Me first accept, ye Muses sweet and fair,
Whose sacred gifts, with thrilling love, I bear;
To me the walks and stars of heaven display, 571
The sun's withdrawal and the moon's dismay;
Why quakes the earth, why seas lift up their pride,
Break bounds, and back upon themselves subside;
How winter suns in ocean plunge so soon, 575
And what belates the timid nights of June.
But if, lest I profane this hallow'd part,
Queen Nature chills the blood around my heart;
At least permit me to indulge my dream
Of meads, and valleys, and the mazy stream:
Be woods and waves my unambitious love, 581
And oh, the fields where doth Sperchius rove!
And mount Taÿgeta, who weaves his brows
With morris-dances of the Spartan maids:
Oh, who will set me in cool Hæmus' glades,