Such is the soil of fat Campanian fields; Such large increase the land that joins Vesuvius yields; And such a country could Acerræ boast, Till Clanius overflowed the unhappy coast. I teach thee next the differing soils to know, The light for vines, the heavier for the plough. Chuse first a place for such a purpose fit: There dig the solid earth, and sink a pit; Next fill the hole with its own earth again, And trample with thy feet, and tread it in: Then, if it rise not to the former height Of superfice, conclude that soil is light, A proper ground for pasturage and vines. But, if the sullen earth, so pressed, repines Within its native mansion to retire, And stays without, a heap of heavy mire, 'Tis good for arable, a glebe that asks Tough teams of oxen, and laborious tasks. Salt earth and bitter are not fit to sow, Nor will be tamed or mended by the plough. Sweet grapes degenerate there; and fruits, declined From their first flavorous taste, renounce their kind. This truth by sure experiment is tried; For first an osier colander provide Of twigs thick wrought, (such toiling peasants twine, When through strait passages they strain their wine:) In this close vessel place that earth accursed, But filled brimfull with wholesome water first; Then run it through; the drops will rope around, And, by the bitter taste, disclose the ground. The fatter earth by handling we may find, With ease distinguished from the meagre kind: Poor soil will crumble into dust; the rich Will to the fingers cleave like clammy pitch: Moist earth produces corn and grass, but both Too rank and too luxuriant in their growth. Let not my land so large a promise boast, Lest the lank ears in length of stem be lost. The heavier earth is by her weight betrayed; The lighter in the poising hand is weighed. 'Tis easy to distinguish by the sight, The colour of the soil, and black from white. But the cold ground is difficult to know; } Yet this the plants, that prosper there, will show-- } Black ivy, pitch-trees, and the baleful yew. } These rules considered well, with early care The vineyard destined for thy vines prepare: But, long before the planting, dig the ground, With furrows deep that cast a rising mound. The clods, exposed to winter winds, will bake; For putrid earth will best in vineyards take; And hoary frosts, after the painful toil Of delving hinds, will rot the mellow soil. Some peasants, not to omit the nicest care, Of the same soil their nursery prepare, With that of their plantation; lest the tree, Translated, should not with the soil agree. Beside, to plant it as it was, they mark The heaven's four quarters on the tender bark, And to the north or south restore the side, Which at their birth did heat or cold abide: So strong is custom; such effects can use In tender souls of pliant plants produce.