Moreover now nor change of fodder serves, And subtlest cures but injure; then were foiled The masters, Chiron sprung from Phillyron, And Amythaon's son Melampus. See! From Stygian darkness launched into the light Comes raging pale Tisiphone; she drives Disease and fear before her, day by day Still rearing higher that all-devouring head. With bleat of flocks and lowings thick resound Rivers and parched banks and sloping heights. At last in crowds she slaughters them, she chokes The very stalls with carrion-heaps that rot In hideous corruption, till men learn With earth to cover them, in pits to hide. For e'en the fells are useless; nor the flesh With water may they purge, or tame with fire, Nor shear the fleeces even, gnawed through and through With foul disease, nor touch the putrid webs; But, had one dared the loathly weeds to try, Red blisters and an unclean sweat o'erran His noisome limbs, till, no long tarriance made, The fiery curse his tainted frame devoured. GEORGIC IV Of air-born honey, gift of heaven, I now Take up the tale. Upon this theme no less Look thou, Maecenas, with indulgent eye. A marvellous display of puny powers, High-hearted chiefs, a nation's history, Its traits, its bent, its battles and its clans, All, each, shall pass before you, while I sing. Slight though the poet's theme, not slight the praise, So frown not heaven, and Phoebus hear his call. First find your bees a settled sure abode, Where neither winds can enter (winds blow back The foragers with food returning home) Nor sheep and butting kids tread down the flowers, Nor heifer wandering wide upon the plain Dash off the dew, and bruise the springing blades. Let the gay lizard too keep far aloof His scale-clad body from their honied stalls, And the bee-eater, and what birds beside, And Procne smirched with blood upon the breast From her own murderous hands. For these roam wide Wasting all substance, or the bees themselves Strike flying, and in their beaks bear home, to glut Those savage nestlings with the dainty prey. But let clear springs and moss-green pools be near, And through the grass a streamlet hurrying run, Some palm-tree o'er the porch extend its shade, Or huge-grown oleaster, that in Spring, Their own sweet Spring-tide, when the new-made chiefs Lead forth the young swarms, and, escaped their comb, The colony comes forth to sport and play, The neighbouring bank may lure them from the heat, Or bough befriend with hospitable shade. O'er the mid-waters, whether swift or still, Cast willow-branches and big stones enow, Bridge after bridge, where they may footing find And spread their wide wings to the summer sun, If haply Eurus, swooping as they pause, Have dashed with spray or plunged them in the deep. And let green cassias and far-scented thymes, And savory with its heavy-laden breath Bloom round about, and violet-beds hard by Sip sweetness from the fertilizing springs. For the hive's self, or stitched of hollow bark,