But Nature, the creatress, herself first Taught men to sow and prompted them to graft. For berries and acorns dropping from the trees Would put forth in due season underneath Swarms of seedlings: and hence the fancy came To insert grafts upon the boughs, and plant Young saplings in the soil about the fields. Next they would try another and yet another Method of tilling their loved piece of land, And so could watch how kindly fostering culture Helped the earth to improve its own wild fruits. And they would force the forests day by day To retreat higher up the mountain-sides And yield the ground below to husbandry, That so meadows and ponds, rivulets, crops, And glad vineyards might cover hill and plain, While grey-green boundary strips of olive trees Might run between the fields, stretching far out O’er hillock, valley and plain; as now we see Whole countrysides glowing with varied beauty, Adorned with rows of sweet fruit-bearing trees, And enclosed round about with joyous groves. But the art of imitating with their mouths The liquid notes of birds, came long before Men could delight their ears by singing words To smooth tunes; and the whistlings of the zephyr In hollow reeds first taught the husbandman To blow through hollow stalks. Then by degrees They learnt those sweet sad ditties, which the pipe, Touched by the fingers of the melodist, Pours forth, such as are heard ’mid pathless woods, Forests and glades, or in the lonely haunts Of shepherds, and the abodes of magic calm. Thus would they soothe and gratify their minds, When satiate with food; for all such things Give pleasure then. So often, couched together On the soft grass, beside a waterbrook Beneath a tall tree’s boughs, at no great cost They would regale their bodies joyously, At those times chiefly when the weather smiled, And the year’s seasons painted the green herbage With flowers. Then went round the jest, the tale, The merry laugh, for then the rustic muse Was in full force: then frolick jollity Would prompt them to enwreathe their heads and shoulders With plaited garlands woven of flowers and leaves, Or dancing out of measure to move their limbs Clumsily, and with clumsy foot to beat Their mother earth; whence smiles and jovial laughter Would rise; since the more novel then and strange All such sports seemed, the more they were admired. And they would find a salve for wakefulness In giving voice to many varied tones Of winding melody, running with curved lip Over the reed-pipes: and from them this custom Is handed down to watchmen nowadays, Who, though they have better learnt to observe time, Yet not one whit more pleasure do they enjoy Than once that silvan race of earth-born men. For what is present, if we have never known