Land which the burrowing share shows dark and rich, With crumbling soil- for this we counterfeit In ploughing- for corn is goodliest; from no field More wains thou'lt see wend home with plodding steers;Or that from which the husbandman in spleen Has cleared the timber, and o'erthrown the copse That year on year lay idle, and from the roots Uptorn the immemorial haunt of birds;They banished from their nests have sought the skies;But the rude plain beneath the ploughshare's stroke Starts into sudden brightness. For indeed The starved hill-country gravel scarce serves the bees With lowly cassias and with rosemary;Rough tufa and chalk too, by black water-worms Gnawed through and through, proclaim no soils beside So rife with serpent-dainties, or that yield Such winding lairs to lurk in. That again, Which vapoury mist and flitting smoke exhales, Drinks moisture up and casts it forth at will, Which, ever in its own green grass arrayed, Mars not the metal with salt scurf of rust-That shall thine elms with merry vines enwreathe;That teems with olive; that shall thy tilth prove kind To cattle, and patient of the curved share.
Such ploughs rich Capua, such the coast that skirts Thy ridge, Vesuvius, and the Clanian flood, Acerrae's desolation and her bane.
How each to recognize now hear me tell.
Dost ask if loose or passing firm it be-Since one for corn hath liking, one for wine, The firmer sort for Ceres, none too loose For thee, Lyaeus?- with scrutinizing eye First choose thy ground, and bid a pit be sunk Deep in the solid earth, then cast the mould All back again, and stamp the surface smooth.
If it suffice not, loose will be the land, More meet for cattle and for kindly vines;But if, rebellious, to its proper bounds The soil returns not, but fills all the trench And overtops it, then the glebe is gross;Look for stiff ridges and reluctant clods, And with strong bullocks cleave the fallow crust.
Salt ground again, and bitter, as 'tis called-Barren for fruits, by tilth untamable, Nor grape her kind, nor apples their good name Maintaining- will in this wise yield thee proof:
Stout osier-baskets from the rafter-smoke, And strainers of the winepress pluck thee down;Hereinto let that evil land, with fresh Spring-water mixed, be trampled to the full;The moisture, mark you, will ooze all away, In big drops issuing through the osier-withes, But plainly will its taste the secret tell, And with a harsh twang ruefully distort The mouths of them that try it. Rich soil again We learn on this wise: tossed from hand to hand Yet cracks it never, but pitch-like, as we hold, Clings to the fingers. A land with moisture rife Breeds lustier herbage, and is more than meet Prolific. Ah I may never such for me O'er-fertile prove, or make too stout a show At the first earing! Heavy land or light The mute self-witness of its weight betrays.
A glance will serve to warn thee which is black, Or what the hue of any. But hard it is To track the signs of that pernicious cold:
Pines only, noxious yews, and ivies dark At times reveal its traces.
All these rules Regarding, let your land, ay, long before, Scorch to the quick, and into trenches carve The mighty mountains, and their upturned clods Bare to the north wind, ere thou plant therein The vine's prolific kindred. Fields whose soil Is crumbling are the best: winds look to that, And bitter hoar-frosts, and the delver's toil Untiring, as he stirs the loosened glebe.
But those, whose vigilance no care escapes, Search for a kindred site, where first to rear A nursery for the trees, and eke whereto Soon to translate them, lest the sudden shock From their new mother the young plants estrange.
Nay, even the quarter of the sky they brand Upon the bark, that each may be restored, As erst it stood, here bore the southern heats, Here turned its shoulder to the northern pole;So strong is custom formed in early years.
Whether on hill or plain 'tis best to plant Your vineyard first inquire. If on some plain You measure out rich acres, then plant thick;Thick planting makes no niggard of the vine;But if on rising mound or sloping bill, Then let the rows have room, so none the less Each line you draw, when all the trees are set, May tally to perfection. Even as oft In mighty war, whenas the legion's length Deploys its cohorts, and the column stands In open plain, the ranks of battle set, And far and near with rippling sheen of arms The wide earth flickers, nor yet in grisly strife Foe grapples foe, but dubious 'twixt the hosts The war-god wavers; so let all be ranged In equal rows symmetric, not alone To feed an idle fancy with the view, But since not otherwise will earth afford Vigour to all alike, nor yet the boughs Have power to stretch them into open space.
Shouldst haply of the furrow's depth inquire, Even to a shallow trench I dare commit The vine; but deeper in the ground is fixed The tree that props it, aesculus in chief, Which howso far its summit soars toward heaven, So deep strikes root into the vaults of hell.
It therefore neither storms, nor blasts, nor showers Wrench from its bed; unshaken it abides, Sees many a generation, many an age Of men roll onward, and survives them all, Stretching its titan arms and branches far, Sole central pillar of a world of shade.
