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But no, not Mede-land with its wealth of woods, Nor Ganges fair, and Hermus thick with gold, Can match the praise of Italy; nor Ind, Nor Bactria, nor Panchaia, one wide tract Of incense-teeming sand. Here never bulls With nostrils snorting fire upturned the sod Sown with the monstrous dragon's teeth, nor crop Of warriors bristled thick with lance and helm; But heavy harvests and the Massic juice Of Bacchus fill its borders, overspread With fruitful flocks and olives. Hence arose The war-horse stepping proudly o'er the plain; Hence thy white flocks, Clitumnus, and the bull, Of victims mightiest, which full oft have led, Bathed in thy sacred stream, the triumph-pomp Of Romans to the temples of the gods. Here blooms perpetual spring, and summer here In months that are not summer's; twice teem the flocks; Twice doth the tree yield service of her fruit. But ravening tigers come not nigh, nor breed Of savage lion, nor aconite betrays Its hapless gatherers, nor with sweep so vast Doth the sc
t and, Benacus, thee With billowy uproar surging like the main? Or sing her harbours, and the barrier cast Athwart the Lucrine, and how ocean chafes With mighty bellowings, where the Julian wave Echoes the thunder of his rout, and through Avernian inlets pours the Tuscan tide? A land no less that in her veins displays Rivers of silver, mines of copper ore, Ay, and with gold hath flowed abundantly. A land that reared a valiant breed of men, The Marsi and Sabellian youth, and, schooled To hardship, the Ligurian, and with these The Volscian javelin-armed, the Decii too, The Marii and Camilli, names of might, The Scipios, stubborn warriors, ay, and thee, Great Caesar, who in Asia's utmost bounds With conquering arm e'en now art fending far The unwarlike Indian from the heights of Rome. Hail! land of Saturn, mighty mother thou Of fruits and heroes; 'tis for thee I dare Unseal the sacred fountains, and essay Themes of old art and glory, as I sing The song of Ascra through the towns of Rome.
Bactria (Afghanistan) (search for this): book 2, card 136
But no, not Mede-land with its wealth of woods, Nor Ganges fair, and Hermus thick with gold, Can match the praise of Italy; nor Ind, Nor Bactria, nor Panchaia, one wide tract Of incense-teeming sand. Here never bulls With nostrils snorting fire upturned the sod Sown with the monstrous dragon's teeth, nor crop Of warriors bristled thick with lance and helm; But heavy harvests and the Massic juice Of Bacchus fill its borders, overspread With fruitful flocks and olives. Hence arose The war-horse stepping proudly o'er the plain; Hence thy white flocks, Clitumnus, and the bull, Of victims mightiest, which full oft have led, Bathed in thy sacred stream, the triumph-pomp Of Romans to the temples of the gods. Here blooms perpetual spring, and summer here In months that are not summer's; twice teem the flocks; Twice doth the tree yield service of her fruit. But ravening tigers come not nigh, nor breed Of savage lion, nor aconite betrays Its hapless gatherers, nor with sweep so vast Doth the sc
Clitumnus (Italy) (search for this): book 2, card 136
air, and Hermus thick with gold, Can match the praise of Italy; nor Ind, Nor Bactria, nor Panchaia, one wide tract Of incense-teeming sand. Here never bulls With nostrils snorting fire upturned the sod Sown with the monstrous dragon's teeth, nor crop Of warriors bristled thick with lance and helm; But heavy harvests and the Massic juice Of Bacchus fill its borders, overspread With fruitful flocks and olives. Hence arose The war-horse stepping proudly o'er the plain; Hence thy white flocks, Clitumnus, and the bull, Of victims mightiest, which full oft have led, Bathed in thy sacred stream, the triumph-pomp Of Romans to the temples of the gods. Here blooms perpetual spring, and summer here In months that are not summer's; twice teem the flocks; Twice doth the tree yield service of her fruit. But ravening tigers come not nigh, nor breed Of savage lion, nor aconite betrays Its hapless gatherers, nor with sweep so vast Doth the scaled serpent trail his endless coils Along the ground, or wr
, the Ligurian, and with these The Volscian javelin-armed, the Decii too, The Marii and Camilli, names of might, The Scipios, stubborn warriors, ay, and thee, Great Caesar, who in Asia's utmost bounds With conquering arm e'en now art fending far The unwarlike Indian from the heights of Rome. Hail! land of Saturn, mighty mother thou Of fruits and heroes; 'tis for thee I dare Unseal the sacred fountains, and essay Themes of old art and glory, as I sing The song of Ascra through the towns of Rome. , the Ligurian, and with these The Volscian javelin-armed, the Decii too, The Marii and Camilli, names of might, The Scipios, stubborn warriors, ay, and thee, Great Caesar, who in Asia's utmost bounds With conquering arm e'en now art fending far The unwarlike Indian from the heights of Rome. Hail! land of Saturn, mighty mother thou Of fruits and heroes; 'tis for thee I dare Unseal the sacred fountains, and essay Themes of old art and glory, as I sing The song of Ascra through the towns of Rome.