The fair Pomona flourished in his reign;[2] Of all the virgins of the sylvan train, None taught the trees a nobler race to bear, Or more improved the vegetable care.[3] To her the shady grove, the flow'ry field, 5 The streams and fountains no delights could yield; 'Twas all her joy the ripening fruits to tend, And see the boughs with happy burthens bend. The hook she bore instead of Cynthia's spear, To lop the growth of the luxuriant year, 10 To decent form the lawless shoots to bring, And teach th' obedient branches where to spring. Now the cleft rind inserted graffs receives, And yields an offspring more than nature gives; Now sliding streams[4] the thirsty plants renew, 15 And feed their fibres with reviving dew. These cares alone her virgin breast employ, Averse from Venus and the nuptial joy. Her private orchards, walled on ev'ry side, To lawless sylvans all access denied. 20 How oft the satyrs and the wanton fauns, Who haunt the forests, or frequent the lawns, The god[5] whose ensign scares the birds of prey, And old Silenus, youthful in decay, Employed their wiles, and unavailing care, 25 To pass the fences, and surprise the fair? Like these, Vertumnus owned his faithful flame, Like these, rejected by the scornful dame. To gain her sight a thousand forms he wears; And first a reaper from the field appears; 30 Sweating he walks, while loads of golden grain O'ercharge the shoulders of the seeming swain. Oft o'er his back a crooked scythe is laid, And wreaths of hay his sun-burnt temples shade: Oft in his hardened hand a goad he bears, 35 Like one who late unyoked the sweating steers. Sometimes his pruning-hook corrects the vines, And the loose stragglers to their ranks confines. Now gath'ring what the bounteous year allows, He pulls ripe apples from the bending boughs. 40 A soldier now, he with his sword appears; A fisher next, his trembling angle bears; Each shape he varies, and each art he tries, On her bright charms to feast his longing eyes. A female form at last Vertumnus wears, } 45 With all the marks of rev'rend age appears, } His temples thinly spread with silver hairs; } Propped on his staff, and stooping as he goes, A painted mitre[6] shades his furrowed brows. The god in this decrepid form arrayed, } 50 The gardens entered, and the fruit surveyed; } And "Happy you!" (he thus addressed the maid) } "Whose charms as far all other nymphs outshine, As other gardens are excelled by thine!"