And shade for sheep, and food for flocks, produce; Hedges for corn, and honey for the bees, Besides the pleasing prospect of the trees. How goodly looks Cytorus, ever green With boxen groves! with what delight are seen Narycian woods of pitch, whose gloomy shade Seems for retreat of heavenly Muses made! But much more pleasing are those fields to see, That need not ploughs, nor human industry. Even cold Caucasean rocks with trees are spread, And wear green forests on their hilly head. Though bending from the blast of eastern storms, Though shent their leaves, and shattered are their arms, Yet heaven their various plants for use designs-- For houses, cedars--and, for shipping, pines-- Cypress provides for spokes and wheels of wains, And all for keels of ships, that scour the watery plains. Willows in twigs are fruitful, elms in leaves; The war, from stubborn myrtle, shafts receives-- From cornels, javelins; and the tougher yew Receives the bending figure of a bow. Nor box, nor limes, without their use are made, } Smooth-grained, and proper for the turner's trade; } Which curious hands may carve, and steel with ease invade. } Light alder stems the Po's impetuous tide, And bees in hollow oaks their honey hide. Now balance, with these gifts, the fumy joys Of wine, attended with eternal noise. Wine urged to lawless lust the Centaurs' train; Through wine they quarrelled, and through wine were slain. O happy, if he knew his happy state, The swain, who, free from business and debate, Receives his easy food from nature's hand, And just returns of cultivated land! No palace, with a lofty gate, he wants, To admit the tides of early visitants, With eager eyes devouring, as they pass, The breathing figures of Corinthian brass. No statues threaten, from high pedestals; No Persian arras hides his homely walls, With antic vests, which, through their shady fold, Betray the streaks of ill-dissembled gold: He boasts no wool, whose native white is dyed With purple poison of Assyrian pride; No costly drugs of Araby defile, With foreign scents, the sweetness of his oil: But easy quiet, a secure retreat, A harmless life that knows not how to cheat, With home-bred plenty, the rich owner bless, And rural pleasures crown his happiness. Unvexed with quarrels, undisturbed with noise, The country king his peaceful realm enjoys-- Cool grots, and living lakes, the flowery pride Of meads, and streams that through the valley glide, And shady groves that easy sleep invite, And, after toilsome days, a soft repose at night. Wild beasts of nature in his woods abound; And youth, of labour patient, plough the ground, Inured to hardship, and to homely fare. Nor venerable age is wanting there, In great examples to the youthful train; Nor are the gods adored with rites profane. From hence Astræa took her flight; and here