HKB
When heaven's fourth hour draws on the thickening drought, And shrill cicalas pierce the brake with song, Then at the well-springs bid them, or deep pools, From troughs of holm-oak quaff the running wave: But at day's hottest seek a shadowy vale, Where some vast ancient-timbered oak of Jove Spreads his huge branches, or where huddling black Ilex on ilex cowers in awful shade. Then once more give them water sparingly, And feed once more, till sunset, when cool eve Allays the air, and dewy moonbeams slake The forest glades, with halcyon's song the shore, And every thicket with the goldfinch rings. Of Libya's shepherds why the tale pursue? Why sing their pastures and the scattered huts They house in? Oft their cattle day and night Graze the whole month together, and go forth Into far deserts where no shelter is, So flat the plain and boundless. All his goods The Afric swain bears with him, house and home, Arms, Cretan quiver, and Amyclaean dog; As some keen Roman in his country's arms Plies the swift march beneath a cruel load; Soon with tents pitched and at his post he stands, Ere looked for by the foe. Not thus the tribes Of Scythia by the far Maeotic wave, Where turbid Ister whirls his yellow sands, And Rhodope stretched out beneath the pole Comes trending backward. There the herds they keep Close-pent in byres, nor any grass is seen Upon the plain, nor leaves upon the tree: But with snow-ridges and deep frost afar Heaped seven ells high the earth lies featureless: Still winter? still the north wind's icy breath! Nay, never sun disparts the shadows pale, Or as he rides the steep of heaven, or dips In ocean's fiery bath his plunging car. Quick ice-crusts curdle on the running stream, And iron-hooped wheels the water's back now bears, To broad wains opened, as erewhile to ships; Brass vessels oft asunder burst, and clothes Stiffen upon the wearers; juicy wines They cleave with axes; to one frozen mass Whole pools are turned; and on their untrimmed beards Stiff clings the jagged icicle. Meanwhile All heaven no less is filled with falling snow; The cattle perish: oxen's mighty frames Stand island-like amid the frost, and stags In huddling herds, by that strange weight benumbed, Scarce top the surface with their antler-points. These with no hounds they hunt, nor net with toils, Nor scare with terror of the crimson plume; But, as in vain they breast the opposing block, Butcher them, knife in hand, and so dispatch Loud-bellowing, and with glad shouts hale them home. Themselves in deep-dug caverns underground Dwell free and careless; to their hearths they heave Oak-logs and elm-trees whole, and fire them there, There play the night out, and in festive glee With barm and service sour the wine-cup mock. So 'neath the seven-starred Hyperborean wain The folk live tameless, buffeted with blasts Of Eurus from Rhipaean hills, and wrap Their bodies in the tawny fells of beasts. If wool delight thee, first, be far removed All prickly boskage, burrs and caltrops; shun Luxuriant pastures;