What makes a plenteous harvest, when to turn The fruitful soil, and when to sow the corn; The care of sheep, of oxen, and of kine, And how to raise on elms the teeming vine; The birth and genius of the frugal Bee, I sing, Mæcenas, and I sing to thee. Ye deities! who fields and plains protect, Who rule the seasons, and the year direct, Bacchus and fostering Ceres, powers divine, Who gave us corn for mast, for water, wine-- Ye Fauns, propitious to the rural swains, Ye Nymphs, that haunt the mountains and the plains, Join in my work, and to my numbers bring Your needful succour; for your gifts I sing. And thou, whose trident struck the teeming earth, And made a passage for the courser's birth; And thou, for whom the Cæan shore sustains The milky herds, that graze the flowery plains; And thou, the shepherds' tutelary god, Leave, for a while, O Pan! thy loved abode; And, if Arcadian fleeces be thy care, From fields and mountains to my song repair. Inventor, Pallas, of the fattening oil, Thou founder of the plough, and ploughman's toil; And thou, whose hands the shrowd-like cypress rear, } Come, all ye gods and goddesses, that wear } The rural honours, and increase the year; } You, who supply the ground with seeds of grain; And you, who swell those seeds with kindly rain; And chiefly thou, whose undetermined state Is yet the business of the gods' debate, Whether in after times to be declared The patron of the world, and Rome's peculiar guard, Or o'er the fruits and seasons to preside, And the round circuit of the year to guide-- Powerful of blessings, which thou strew'st around, And with thy goddess mother's myrtle crowned. Or wilt thou, Cæsar, chuse the watery reign, To smooth the surges, and correct the main? Then mariners, in storms, to thee shall pray; } Even utmost Thule shall thy power obey; } And Neptune shall resign the fasces of the sea. } The watery virgins for thy bed shall strive, And Tethys all her waves in dowry give. Or wilt thou bless our summers with thy ray And, seated near the Balance, poise the days, Where, in the void of heaven, a space is free, Betwixt the Scorpion and the Maid, for thee? The Scorpion, ready to receive thy laws, Yields half his region, and contracts his claws. Whatever part of heaven thou shalt obtain, (For let not hell presume of such a reign; Nor let so dire a thirst of empire move Thy mind, to leave thy kindred gods above; Though Greece admires Elysium's blest retreat, Though Proserpine affects her silent seat, And, importuned by Ceres to remove, Prefers the fields below to those above), Be thou propitious, Cæsar! guide my course, And to my bold endeavours add thy force: Pity the poet's and the ploughman's cares; } Interest thy greatness in our mean affairs, }