Prune with thy hook the dark field's matted shade, Pray down the showers, all vainly thou shalt eye, Alack! thy neighbour's heaped-up harvest-mow, And in the greenwood from a shaken oak Seek solace for thine hunger. Now to tell The sturdy rustics' weapons, what they are, Without which, neither can be sown nor reared The fruits of harvest; first the bent plough's share And heavy timber, and slow-lumbering wains Of the Eleusinian mother, threshing-sleighs And drags, and harrows with their crushing weight; Then the cheap wicker-ware of Celeus old, Hurdles of arbute, and thy mystic fan, Iacchus; which, full tale, long ere the time Thou must with heed lay by, if thee await Not all unearned the country's crown divine. While yet within the woods, the elm is tamed And bowed with mighty force to form the stock, And take the plough's curved shape, then nigh the root A pole eight feet projecting, earth-boards twain, And share-beam with its double back they fix. For yoke is early hewn a linden light, And a tall beech for handle, from behind To turn the car at lowest: then o'er the hearth The wood they hang till the smoke knows it well. Many the precepts of the men of old I can recount thee, so thou start not back, And such slight cares to learn not weary thee. And this among the first: thy threshing-floor With ponderous roller must be levelled smooth, And wrought by hand, and fixed with binding chalk, Lest weeds arise, or dust a passage win Splitting the surface, then a thousand plagues Make sport of it: oft builds the tiny mouse Her home, and plants her granary, underground, Or burrow for their bed the purblind moles, Or toad is found in hollows, and all the swarm Of earth's unsightly creatures; or a huge Corn-heap the weevil plunders, and the ant, Fearful of coming age and penury. Mark too, what time the walnut in the woods With ample bloom shall clothe her, and bow down Her odorous branches, if the fruit prevail, Like store of grain will follow, and there shall come A mighty winnowing-time with mighty heat; But if the shade with wealth of leaves abound, Vainly your threshing-floor will bruise the stalks Rich but in chaff. Many myself have seen Steep, as they sow, their pulse-seeds, drenching them With nitre and black oil-lees, that the fruit Might swell within the treacherous pods, and they Make speed to boil at howso small a fire. Yet, culled with caution, proved with patient toil, These have I seen degenerate, did not man Put forth his hand with power, and year by year Choose out the largest. So, by fate impelled, Speed all things to the worse, and backward borne Glide from us; even as who with struggling oars Up stream scarce pulls a shallop, if he chance His arms to slacken, lo! with headlong force The current sweeps him down the hurrying tide. Us too behoves Arcturus' sign observe, And the Kids' seasons and the shining Snake, No less than those who o'er the windy main Borne homeward tempt the Pontic, and the jaws