And feel the freshening brook, whose living stream
Glides at thy foot with clear and sparkling gleam:
Three parts its waters in thy cup should flow,
The fourth with brimming wine may mingled glow.
When first [113]Orion’s beamy strength is born,
Let then thy labourers thresh the sacred corn:
Smooth be the level floor, [114]on gusty ground,
Where winnowing gales may sweep in eddies round.
Hoard in thy ample bins the meted grain:
And now, as I advise, [115]thy hireling swain