Indeed, if I were now not winching my sails upon the end
Of my journey, and was not hurrying to dock my ship,
Perhaps I would also sing of the cultivation which adorns
Fruitful gardens and the rose beds of twice-blooming Paestum,
And how endives rejoice in the rivers they drink,
And how riverbanks are green with parsley,
And how a cucumber snaked though grass swells into a paunch;
And I would not keep silent about Narcissus blooming late,
Or a branch of bent acanthus, and pale ivy, and shore-loving myrtle.
For I remember that, under the turrets of the Oebalian fortress,
Where the dark Galaesus waters yellow fields,
I saw an old Corycian, who had but a few acres of derelict farmland,
Tillage not fertile for cattle, nor fit for sheep, nor suitable for Bacchus.
Nevertheless, planting vegetables here and there in the brambles,
And white lilies, and olive branches, and slender poppy around them,
He matched his wealth with the lives of kings, and, returning home
Late at night, heaped his tables with feasts not costing him a dime.
He was first to pluck roses in spring and apples in autumn,
Even when gloomy winter was still splitting rocks with its cold,
And restraining streams of water with its ice,
He was already reaping the bloom of soft hyacinth,
Scolding summer for being late and the Zephyrs for loitering.
And so, the same man was first to be supplied with young bees and
A great swarm, and to collect foaming honey from pressed honeycombs;
His lindens and evergreens were most fruitful,
And as much fruit as his fertile tree donned in new bloom,
It held once matured in autumn.
He even scattered elms planted in a row,
And a hard pear tree, and blackthorns now bearing plums,
And a platane now serving its shade to drinkers.
But I, indeed, restricted by uneven spaces, pass over these things,
And leave them to for others after me to discuss.
Atque equidem, extremo ni iam sub fine laborum
vela traham et terris festinem advertere proram,
forsitan et, pingues hortos quae cura colendi
ornaret, canerem, biferique rosaria Paesti,
quoque modo potis gauderent intiba rivis
et virides apio ripae, tortusque per herbam
cresceret in ventrem cucumis; nec sera comantem
narcissum aut flexi tacuissem vimen acanthi
pallentesque hederas et amantes litora myrtos.
Namque sub Oebaliae memini me turribus arcis,
qua niger umectat flaventia culta Galaesus,
Corycium vidisse senem, cui pauca relicti
iugera ruris erant, nec fertilis illa iuvencis
nec pecori opportuna seges nec commoda Baccho.
Hic rarum tamen in dumis olus albaque circum
lilia verbenasque premens vescumque papaver
regum aequabat opes animis seraque revertens
nocte domum dapibus mensas onerabat inemptis.
Primus vere rosam atque autumno carpere poma,
et cum tristis hiems etiamnum frigore saxa
rumperet et glacie cursus frenaret aquarum,
ille comam mollis iam tondebat hyacinthi
aestatem increpitans seram Zephyrosque morantes.
Ergo apibus fetis idem atque examine multo
primus abundare et spumantia cogere pressis
mella favis; illi tiliae atque uberrima pinus,
quotque in flore novo pomis se fertilis arbos
induerat, totidem autumno matura tenebat.
Ille etiam seras in versum distulit ulmos
eduramque pirum et spinos iam pruna ferentes
iamque ministrantem platanum potantibus umbras.
Verum haec ipse equidem spatiis exclusus iniquis
praetereo atque aliis post me memoranda relinquo.