Page:Virgil - The Georgics, Thomas Nevile, 1767.djvu/62

 

Yet more; one endless labour vines demand; 445
Oft ev'ry year to plough the planted land,
Ceaseless with drags to break the mould, and free
Of her superfluous leaves the cumber'd tree.
One round of toil employs the drudging swain,
And in itself the year rolls back again. 450
When her late honours now the vine has cast,
And the stript forests felt the northern blast,
Ev'n then no vigilance the Rustic spares,
But to the coming year extends his cares,
With Saturn's sickle plies the slighted trees, 455
And lops, and prunes, and forms them by degrees.
Dig you the first, the cuttings in a blaze
First set, and homeward first bear back the stays,
But reap the last: twice shadowy leaves abound, 459
With tangling thorns twice weeds o'er-spread the ground:
Tiresome alike each task: do you commend
Extensive vineyards, but a small one tend.
The sithe to reeds along the river's side,
And the rough twigs of Ruscus, is apply'd;
Nor less wild willows your attention share: 465
Now the well-order 'd rows the hook forbear;
The Dresser, spent with toil, surveys his vines
Fast-bound, and whistles near th' extremest lines:

Still