After the winter solstice,
Zeus decrees that sixty more
days of winter will follow.
Then will the star [565]
Arcturus rise up
from the sacred waters of Ocean.
Marking the new season,
it will shine brightly at dusk.
Then the swallow, King Pandion’s daughter,
will sound to humans her song of woe.
She laments her tragic rape,
but now in metamorphosis, sings the beginning of spring.
Prune the vines
before the swallow sings, for this is best. [570]
But when the snail, up from the earth,
carrying his house on his back, crawls up plants
(as if in flight from the Pleiades!), then cease
the hoeing in your vineyards.
Tend instead to harvest: sharpen your sickles,
and summon your workers.
You can’t hide in the shade,
or sleep past dawn,
when the harvest time arrives.
True, the sun beats down on your hot skin. [575]
That’s why you have to make haste.
How else will you bring home the harvest,
unless you get up early? Get the jump on the day’s heat,
and secure your livelihood.
Get a third of your work
done at dawn.
Work at dawn, and you are on the way.
Work at dawn, and the job gets done.
When the light of dawn appears,
what can you see? [580]
See how she lights the way of many on the right path.
See how she yokes many oxen.
But when summer comes,
the golden thistle will flower. The cicada will sing out
from his perch in the tree.
He will chirp his song
by beating his wings.
Who else cares to sing in this wearisome heat?
In summertime, goats grow most fat,
and wine tastes most sweet. [585]
Women are most hot and bothered,
and men are too tired to put up a fight.
In the dog days of summer,
the star Sirius weakens heads and wobbles knees.
Skin shrivels dry in the heat.
So what better time is there for me
to find a shady retreat? On a cool rock,
I shall drink the finest Bibline wine.
For an appetizer, I shall eat cheese bread,
dipped in goat’s milk. [590]
Then shall I feast on steak, on the juiciest cut
from the most expensive cow, with roast
baby goat’s meat on the side. I’ll wash it all down
with that fine red wine, and keep on
sipping it as I sit in the shade. And then,
when full of food and wine,
my heart is happy …
I shall turn my head to face west,
towards the refreshing Zephyr wind, and smile.
Then shall I make my prayer, and pour out
pure water, taken from a living spring, [595]
in three libation offerings. But the fourth libation
will seal my prayer with that holy wine.
But then in July, you must summon
your workers again, to winnow the sacred grain
of Demeter, when mighty Orion
first appears in the sky.
You will need a level threshing floor
in a well-ventilated place.
Measure out the grain
as you store it in your jars. Then, [600]
when your livelihood is safe and secure,
stored up inside your house,
you may dismiss your workers.
You may replace them now with just
a servant girl. But make sure she has no children.
Why hire a screaming headache?
At this time, you also need a guard dog.
Get one with sharp teeth. Feed him well.
If you fail to take my advice,
then you will lose your grain to a thief in the night. [605]
And did you stock up on hay and fodder?
You will need enough to feed
your oxen and your mules. Did you do this
before dismissing your workers?
It’ll be their last task. Then they may rest
their weary knees, as oxen now unyoked.
In September, Orion and Sirius arrive
in the middle of
the sky, and rosy-fingered Dawn
sees Arcturus rising. [610]
This is the time to carry home, from the vine,
the clusters of grapes. Perses, do you see?
Pruned before the swallow sang,
it now rewards a man’s prudence. Dry the grapes
in sunlight for ten days. Cool them in shade
for five days. On day six, press into jars
the juicy gifts. Dionysus is joyful when the best wine
is won thus, by practical wisdom.
By November, the Pleiades
and the Hyades and mighty Orion [615]
will have set. Do you remember what to do now?
Yes, time again to plow.
Thus wind the seasons. The constellations
of spring and summer turn under the ground.