Nor to the north, nor to the rising sun, Nor southward to the rainy regions, run, But boring to the west, and hovering there, With gaping mouths, they draw prolific air; With which impregnate, from their groins they shed A slimy juice, by false conception bred. The shepherd knows it well, and calls by name Hippomanes, to note the mother's flame. This, gathered in the planetary hour, With noxious weeds, and spelled with words of power, Dire stepdames in the magic bowl infuse, And mix, for deadly draughts, the poisonous juice. But time is lost, which never will renew, } While we too far the pleasing path pursue, } Surveying nature with too nice a view. } Let this suffice for herds: our following care Shall woolly flocks and shaggy goats declare. Nor can I doubt what oil I must bestow, To raise my subject from a ground so low; And the mean matter, which my theme affords, To embellish with magnificence of words. But the commanding Muse my chariot guides, Which o'er the dubious cliff securely rides; And pleased I am, no beaten road to take, But first the way to new discoveries make. Now, sacred Pales, in a lofty strain I sing the rural honours of thy reign. First, with assiduous care from winter keep, Well foddered in the stalls, thy tender sheep: Then spread with straw the bedding of thy fold, With fern beneath, to 'fend the bitter cold; That free from gouts thou may'st preserve thy care, And clear from scabs, produced by freezing air. Next, let thy goats officiously be nursed, And led to living streams, to quench their thirst. Feed them with winter-browze; and, for their lair, A cote, that opens to the south, prepare; Where basking in the sun-shine they may lie, And the short remnants of his heat enjoy. This during winter's drisly reign be done, Till the new Ram receives the exalted sun.[17] For hairy goats of equal profit are With woolly sheep, and ask an equal care. 'Tis true, the fleece, when drunk with Tyrian juice, Is dearly sold; but not for needful use: For the salacious goat increases more, And twice as largely yields her milky store. The still distended udders never fail, But, when they seem exhausted, swell the pail. Meantime the pastor shears their hoary beards, And eases of their hair the loaden herds. Their cam'lots, warm in tents, the soldier hold, And shield the shivering mariner from cold. On shrubs they browze, and, on the bleaky top Of rugged hills, the thorny bramble crop. Attended with their bleating kids, they come } At night, unasked, and mindful of their home; } And scarce their swelling bags the threshold overcome. } So much the more thy diligence bestow In depth of winter, to defend the snow, By how much less the tender helpless kind, For their own ills, can fit provision find.