GEORGICON - I.1-42 | WHAT MAKES THE CORNFIELDS GLAD ... |
Virgil (P. Vergilius Maro) | trans. K. R. Mackenzie |
Quid faciat laetas segetes, quo sidere terram uertere, Maecenas, ulmisque adiungere uitis conueniat, quae cura boum, qui cultus habendo sit pecori, apibus quanta experientia parcis, hinc canere incipiam. uos, o clarissima mundi lumina, labentem caelo quae ducitis annum; Liber et alma Ceres, uestro si munere tellus Chaoniam pingui glandem mutauit arista, poculaque inuentis Acheloia miscuit uuis; et uos, agrestum praesentia numina, Fauni (ferte simul Faunique pedem Dryadesque puellae: munera uestra cano); tuque o, cui prima frementem fudit equum magno tellus percussa tridenti, Neptune; et cultor nemorum, cui pinguia Ceae ter centum niuei tondent dumeta iuuenci; ipse nemus linquens patrium saltusque Lycaei Pan, ouium custos, tua si tibi Maenala curae, adsis, o Tegeaee, fauens, oleaeque Minerua inuentrix, uncique puer monstrator aratri, et teneram ab radice ferens, Siluane, cupressum: dique deaeque omnes, studium quibus arua tueri, quique nouas alitis non ullo semine fruges quique satis largum caelo demittitis imbrem. tuque adeo, quem mox quae sint habitura deorum concilia incertum est, urbisne inuisere, Caesar, terrarumque uelis curam, et te maximus orbis auctorem frugum tempestatumque potentem accipiat cingens materna tempora myrto; an deus immensi uenias maris ac tua nautae numina sola colant, tibi seruiat ultima Thule, teque sibi generum Tethys emat omnibus undis; anne nouum tardis sidus te mensibus addas, qua locus Erigonen inter Chelasque sequentis panditur (ipse tibi iam bracchia contrahit ardens Scorpius et caeli iusta plus parte reliquit); quidquid eris (nam te nec sperant Tartara regem, nec tibi regnandi ueniat tam dira cupido, quamuis Elysios miretur Graecia campos nec repetita sequi curet Proserpina matrem), da facilem cursum atque audacibus adnue coeptis, ignarosque uiae mecum miseratus agrestis ingredere et uotis iam nunc adsuesce uocari. |
What makes the cornfields glad, beneath what star To turn the soil or train the vines on elms, The care of oxen and the shepherd's skill, The art of keeping thrifty bees - all this, Maecenas, is my theme. Ye heavenly orbs, That draw the gliding year across the sky, And Bacchus and kind Ceres, by whose grace Dodona's acorns yielded first to grain And Acheloüs' draughts were mixed with wine; Ye Fauns, e'er present rustic deities, (Come dance a measure with the woodland Nymphs) - Yours are the gifts I sing. And Neptune too, At whose command earth bore the neighing horse; And thou, the spirit of the groves, for whom A thousand snowy steers on Ceos graze; Thyself too, Pan, the guardian of the flocks, Come, quit Lycaeus and thy native glades, And by the love thou hast for Maenalus Assist my song; and thou, Minerva, come, Inventress of the olive, and that boy Who first taught men to use the curving plough; Silvanus too, with thy young cypress tree; And every god and goddess of the fields, That nurse the tender plants unsown by man And send the generous rain upon the crops. And most of all, thou, Caesar, whom none knows What heavenly company shall hereafter claim; Whether thou choose the cities and the plains, And all the world receive thee as the god Of fruitful increase and the seasons' gifts, Wreathing thy brow with Venus' myrtle crown; Or whether thou as god of ocean come, By sailors worshipped far as Thule's isle, And Tethys gives her daughter for thy bride With all her waves for dower, or whether thou Art added to the number of the stars, Where 'twixt the Virgin and the Scorpion lo! A space already opens, and his claws Draw back to leave an ampler share of sky,- Whatever thou shalt be (let Hell not hope For thee as king nor thou desire such rule, Although the Greeks may praise th' Elysian fields, And Proserpine heeds not her mother's call) Make smooth my path and bless my bold emprise, Pity with me the simple country folk, And even now grow used to hear our prayers! |
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Transl. copyright © The Folio Society Ltd. 1969