Hesiod's Works and Days
Translated by Christopher Kelk
Compositions from the Works, Days and Theogony of Hesiod, 1817
William Blake (1757–1827) - The Minneapolis Museum of Art
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Pierian Muses, with your songs of praise,
Come hither and of Zeus, your father, tell,
Through whom all mortal men throughout their days
Acclaimed or not, talked of or nameless dwell,
So great is he. He strengthens easily
The weak, makes weak the strong and the well-known
Obscure, makes great the low; the crooked he
Makes straight, high-thundering Zeus upon his throne.
See me and hear me, make straight our decrees,
For, Perses, I would tell the truth to you. 10
Not one, but two Strifes live on earth: when these
Are known, one’s praised, one blamed, because these two
Far differ. For the one makes foul war thrive,
The wretch, unloved of all, but the gods on high
Gave the decree that every man alive
Should that oppressive goddess glorify.
The other, black Night’s first-born child, the son
Of Cronus, throned on high, set in the soil,
A greater boon to men; she urges on
Even the slack to work. One craves to toil 20
When others prosper, hankering to seed
And plough and set his house in harmony.
So neighbour vies with neighbour in great need
Of wealth: this Strife well serves humanity.
Potter hates potter, builder builder, and
A beggar bears his fellow-beggar spite,
Likewise all singers. Perses, understand
My verse, don’t let the evil Strife invite
Your heart to shrink from work and make you gaze
And listen to the quarrels in the square - 30
No time for quarrels or to spend one’s days
In public life when in your granary there
Is not stored up a year’s stock of the grain
Demeter grants the earth. Get in that store,
Then you may wrangle, struggling to obtain
Other men’s goods – a chance shall come no more
To do this. Let’s set straight our wrangling
With Zeus’s laws, so excellent and fair.
We split our goods in two, but, capturing
The greater part, you carried it from there 40
And praised those kings, bribe-eaters, who adore
To judge such cases. Fools! They do not know
That half may well transcend the total store
Or how the asphodel and the mallow
Will benefit them much. The means of life
The gods keep from us or else easily
Could one work for one day, then, free from strife,
One’s rudder packed away, live lazily,
Each ox and hard-worked mule sent off. In spleen
That fraudulent Prometheus duped him, Zeus 50
Kept safe this thing, devising labours keen
For men. He hid the fire: for human use
The honourable son of Iapetus
Stole it from counsellor Zeus and in his guile
He hid it in a fennel stalk and thus
Hoodwinked the Thunderer, who aired his bile,
Cloud-Gatherer that he was, and said: “O son
Of Iapetus, the craftiest god of all,
You stole the fire, content with what you’d done,
And duped me. So great anguish shall befall 60
Both you and future mortal men. A thing
Of ill in lieu of fire I’ll afford
Them all to take delight in, cherishing
The evil”. Thus he spoke and then the lord
Of men and gods laughed. Famed Hephaistus he
Enjoined to mingle water with some clay
And put a human voice and energy
Within it and a goddess’ features lay
On it and, like a maiden, sweet and pure,
The body, though Athene was to show 70
Her how to weave; upon her head allure
The golden Aphrodite would let flow,
With painful passions and bone-shattering stress.
Then Argus-slayer Hermes had to add
A wily nature and shamefacedness.
Those were his orders and what Lord Zeus bade
They did. The famed lame god immediately
Formed out of clay, at Cronus’ son’s behest,
The likeness of a maid of modesty.
By grey-eyed Queen Athene was she dressed 80
And cinctured, while the Graces and Seduction
Placed necklaces about her; then the Hours,
With lovely tresses, heightened this production
By garlanding this maid with springtime flowers.
Athene trimmed her up, while in her breast
Hermes put lies and wiles and qualities
Of trickery at thundering Zeus’ behest:
Since all Olympian divinities
Bestowed this gift, Pandora was her name,
A bane to all mankind. When they had hatched 90
This perfect trap, Hermes, that man of fame,
The gods’ swift messenger, was then dispatched
To Epimetheus. Epimetheus, though,
Ignored Prometheus’ words not to receive
A gift from Zeus but, since it would cause woe
To me, so send it back; he would perceive
This truth when he already held the thing.
Before this time men lived quite separately,
Grief-free, disease-free, free of suffering,
Which brought the Death-Gods. Now in misery 100
Men age. Pandora took out of the jar
Grievous calamity, bringing to men
Dreadful distress by scattering it afar.
Within its firm sides, Hope alone was then
Still safe within its lip, not leaping out
(The lid already stopped her, by the will
Of aegis-bearing Zeus). But all about
There roam among mankind all kinds of ill,
Filling both land and sea, while every day
Plagues haunt them, which, unwanted, come at night 110
As well, in silence, for Zeus took away
Their voice – it is not possible to fight
The will of Zeus. I’ll sketch now skilfully,
If you should welcome it, another story:
Take it to heart. The selfsame ancestry
Embraced both men and gods, who, in their glory
High on Olympus first devised a race
Of gold, existing under Cronus’ reign
When he ruled Heaven. There was not a trace
Of woe among them since they felt no pain; 120
There was no dread old age but, always rude
Of health, away from grief, they took delight
In plenty, while in death they seemed subdued
By sleep. Life-giving earth, of its own right,
Would bring forth plenteous fruit. In harmony
They lived, with countless flocks of sheep, at ease
With all the gods. But when this progeny
Was buried underneath the earth – yet these
Live on, land-spirits, holy, pure and blessed,
Who guard mankind from evil, watching out 130
For all the laws and heinous deeds, while dressed
In misty vapour, roaming all about
The land, bestowing wealth, this kingly right
Being theirs – a second race the Olympians made,
A silver one, far worse, unlike, in sight
And mind, the golden, for a young child stayed,
A large bairn, in his mother’s custody,
Just playing inside for a hundred years.
But when they all reached their maturity,
They lived a vapid life, replete with tears, 140
Through foolishness, unable to forbear
To brawl, spurning the gods, refusing, too,
To sacrifice (a law kept everywhere).
Then Zeus, since they would not give gods their due,
In rage hid them, as did the earth – all men
Have called the race Gods Subterranean,
Second yet honoured still. A third race then
Zeus fashioned out of bronze, quite different than
The second, with ash spears, both dread and stout;
They liked fell warfare and audacity; 150
They ate no corn, encased about
With iron, full invincibility
In hands, limbs, shoulders, and the arms they plied
Were bronze, their houses, too, their tools; they knew
Of no black iron. Later, when they died
It was self-slaughter – they descended to
Chill Hades’ mouldy house, without a name.
Yes, black death took them off, although they’d been
Impetuous, and they the sun’s bright flame
Would see no more, nor would this race be seen 160
Themselves, screened by the earth. Cronus’ son then
Fashioned upon the lavish land one more,
The fourth, more just and brave – of righteous men,
Called demigods. It was the race before
Our own upon the boundless earth. Foul war
And dreadful battles vanquished some of these,
While some in Cadmus’ Thebes, while looking for
The flocks of Oedipus, found death. The seas
Took others as they crossed to Troy fight
For fair-tressed Helen. They were screened as well 170
In death. Lord Zeus arranged it that they might
Live far from others. Thus they came to dwell,
Carefree, among the blessed isles, content
And affluent, by the deep-swirling sea.
Sweet grain, blooming three times a year, was sent
To them by the earth, that gives vitality
To all mankind, and Cronus was their lord,
Far from the other gods, for Zeus, who reigns
Over gods and men, had cut away the cord
That bound him. Though the lowest race, its gains 180
Were fame and glory. A fifth progeny
All-seeing Zeus produced, who populated
The fecund earth. I wish I could not be
Among them, but instead that I’d been fated
To be born later or be in my grave
Already: for it is of iron made.
Each day in misery they ever slave,
And even in the night they do not fade
Away. The gods will give to them great woe
But mix good with the bad. Zeus will destroy 190
Them too when babies in their cribs shall grow
Grey hair. No bond a father with his boy
Shall share, nor guest with host, nor friend with friend –
No love of brothers as there was erstwhile,
Respect for aging parents at an end.
Their wretched children shall with words of bile
Find fault with them in their irreverence
And not repay their bringing up. We’ll find
Cities brought down. There’ll be no deference
That’s given to the honest, just and kind. 200
The evil and the proud will get acclaim,
Might will be right and shame shall cease to be,
The bad will harm the good whom they shall maim
With crooked words, swearing false oaths. We’ll see
Envy among the wretched, foul of face
And voice, adoring villainy, and then
Into Olympus from the endless space
Mankind inhabits, leaving mortal men,
Fair flesh veiled by white robes, shall Probity
And Shame depart, and there’ll be grievous pain 210
For men: against all evil there shall be
No safeguard. Now I’ll tell, for lords who know
What it purports, a fable: once, on high,
Clutched in its talon-grip, a bird of prey
Took off a speckled nightingale whose cry
Was “Pity me”, but, to this bird’s dismay,
He said disdainfully: “You silly thing,
Why do you cry? A stronger one by far
Now has you. Although you may sweetly sing,
You go where I decide. Perhaps you are 220
My dinner or perhaps I’ll let you go.
A fool assails a stronger, for he’ll be
The loser, suffering scorn as well as woe.”
Thus spoke the swift-winged bird. Listen to me,
Perses – heed justice and shun haughtiness;
It aids no common man: nobles can’t stay
It easily because it will oppress
Us all and bring disgrace. The better way
Is Justice, who will outstrip Pride at last.
Fools learn this by experience because 230
The God of Oaths, by running very fast,
Keeps pace with and requites all crooked laws.
When men who swallow bribes and crookedly
Pass sentences and drag Justice away,
There’s great turmoil, and then, in misery
Weeping and covered in a misty spray,
She comes back to the city, carrying
Woe to the wicked men who ousted her.
The city and its folk are burgeoning,
However, when to both the foreigner 240
And citizen are given judgments fair
And honest, children grow in amity,
Far-seeing Zeus sends them no dread warfare,
And decent men suffer no scarcity
Of food, no ruin, as they till their fields
And feast; abundance reigns upon the earth;
Each mountaintop a wealth of acorns yields,
Bees thrive below, and mothers all give birth
To children who resemble perfectly
Their fathers, while the fleeces on the sheep 250
Are heavy. All things flourish, while the sea
Needs not a ship; the vital soil is deep
With fruits. Far-seeing Zeus evens the score
Against proud, evil men. The wickedness
Of one man often sways whole cities, for
The son of Cronus sends from heaven distress,
Both plague and famine, causing death amid
Its folk, its women barren. Homes decline
By Zeus’s plan. Sometimes he will consign
Broad armies to destruction or will bid 260
Them of their walls and take their ships away.
Lords, note this punishment. The gods are nigh
Those mortals who from adulation stray
And grind folk down with fraud. Yes, from on high
Full thirty-thousand gods of Zeus exist
Upon the fecund earth who oversee
All men and wander far, enclosed in mist,
And watch for law-suits and iniquity.
Justice is one, daughter of Zeus, a maid
Who is renowned among the gods who dwell 270
High in Olympus: should someone upbraid
Her cruelly, immediately she’ll tell
Lord Zeus, there at his side, of men who cause
Much woe till people pay a penalty
For unjust lords, who cruelly bend the laws
For evil. You who hold supremacy
And swallow bribes, beware of this and shun
All crooked laws and deal in what is best.
Who hurts another hurts himself. When one
Makes wicked plans, he’ll be the most distressed. 280
All-seeing Zeus sees all there is to see
And, should he wish, takes note nor fails to know
The justice in a city. I’d not be
A just man nor would have my son be so –
It’s no use being good when wickedness
Holds sway. I trust wise Zeus won’t punish me.
Perses, remember this, serve righteousness
And wholly sidestep the iniquity
Of force. The son of Cronus made this act
For men - that fish, wild beasts and birds should eat 290
Each other, being lawless, but the pact
He made with humankind is very meet –
If one should know and publicize what’s right,
Far-seeing Zeus repays him with a store
Of wealth, but if one swears false oaths outright,
Committing fatal wrongs, forevermore
His kin shall live in gloominess, while he
Who keeps his oath shall benefit his kin.
I tell you things of great utility,
Foolish Perses; to take and capture sin 300
En masse is easy: she is very near,
The road is flat. To goodness, though, much sweat
The gods have placed en route. The road is sheer
And long and rough at first, but when you get
Right to the very peak, though hard to bear
It’s found with ease. That man is wholly best
Who uses his own mind and takes good care
About the future. Who takes interest
In others’ notions is a good man too,
But he who shuns these things is valueless. 310
Remember all that I have said to you,
Noble Perses, and work with steadfastness
Till Hunger vexes you and you’re a friend
Of holy, wreathed Demeter, who with corn
Will fill your barn. But Hunger will attend
A lazy man. The gods and men all scorn
A lazy man, who’s like a stingless drone
Who merely eats and wastes the industry
Of the bees. You must be organized and hone
Your working skills so that your granary 320
Is full at harvest-time. Through work men grow
Wealthy in sheep and gold: by earnest work
One’s loved more by the gods above. There’s no
Disgrace in toil; disgrace it is to shirk.
The wealth you gain from work will very soon
Be envied by the idle man: virtue
And fame come to the rich. A greater boon
Is work, whatever else happens to you,
If from your neighbours’ goods your foolish mind
You turn and earn your pay by industry, 330
As I bid you. Shame of a cringing kind
Attends a needy man, ignominy
That causes major damage or will turn
To gain. Poor men feel sham, the rich, though, are
Self-confident. The money that we earn
Should not be seized – god-sent, it’s better far.
If someone steals great riches by duress
Or with a lying tongue, as has ensued
Quite often, when his mind in cloudiness
Is cast by gain, and shame is now pursued 340
By shamelessness, the gods then easily
Destroy him, bringing down his house, and there,
In record time, goes his prosperity.
Likewise, if someone brings great ills to bear
On guest or suppliant or, by wrong beguiled,
Lies with his brother’s wife or sinfully
Brings harm upon a little orphan child,
Or else insults with harsh contumely
His aged father, thus provoking Zeus
And paying dearly for his sins. But you 350
Must keep your foolish heart from such abuse
And do your best to give the gods their due
Of sacrifice; the glorious meat-wrapped thighs
Roast for them, please them with an offering
Of wine and balm at night and when you rise
To gain their favour and that it may bring
The sale of others’ goods, not yours. Invite
A friend to dine and not an enemy,
A neighbour chiefly, for disaster might
Be near and they’re in the vicinity, 360
Unarmed through haste, while kinsmen will delay
In arming. Wicked neighbours cause much pain
But good ones bring a splendid profit. They
Who have good neighbours find that they will gain
Much worth. No cow is lost unless you dwell
Near wicked neighbours. Measure carefully
When borrowing from a neighbour, serve them well
When giving him repayment equally,
Nay more if you are able, for you’ll gain
By this a friend in need, and do not earn 370
Ill-gotten wealth – such profits are a bane.
Love all your friends, turn to all those who turn
To you. Give to a giver but forbear
To give to one who doesn’t give. One gives
To open-handed men but does not care
To please a miser thus, for Giving lives
In virtue, while Theft lives in sin and brings
Grim death. The man who gives abundantly
And willingly rejoices in the things
He gives, delights within his soul. But he 380
Who steals however small a thing will find
A freezing in his heart. Add to your store
And leave ferocious famine far behind;
If to a little you a little more
Should add and do this often, with great speed
It will expand. A man has little care
For what he has at home: there’s greater need
To guard his wealth abroad, while still his share
At home is safer. Taking from your store
Is good, but wanting something causes pain – 390
Think on this. Use thrift with the flagon’s core
But when you open it and then again
As it runs out, then take your fill – no need
For prudence with the lees. Allow no doubt
About a comrade’s wages; no, take heed
Even with your brother – smile and ferret out
A witness. Trust and mistrust both can kill.
Let not a dame, fawning and lascivious,
Dupe you - she wants your barn. Your trust is ill-
Placed in a woman – she’s perfidious. 400
An only child preserves his family
That wealth may grow. But if one leaves two heirs,
One must live longer. Zeus, though, easily
To larger houses gives great wealth. The cares
And increase for more kindred greater grow.
If you want wealth, do this, add industry
To industry, and harvest what you sow
When Pleiades’ ascendancy you see,
And plough when they have set. They lurk concealed
For forty days and nights but then appear 410
In time when first your sickles for the field
You sharpen. This is true for dwellers near
The level plains and sea, and those who dwell
In woody glens far from the raging deep,
Those fertile lands; sow naked, plough, as well,
Unclothed, and harvest stripped if you would reap
Demeter’s work in season. Everything
Will then be done in time: in penury
You’ll not beg help at others’ homes and bring
Your own downfall. Thus now you come to me: 420
I’ll give you nothing. Practise industry,
Foolish Perses, which the gods have given men,
Lest, with their wives and children, dolefully
They seek food from their neighbours, who will then
Ignore them. Twice or thrice you may succeed,
But if you still harass them, you’ll achieve
Nothing and waste your words about your need.
I urge you, figure how you may relieve
Your need and cease your hunger. The first thing
That you must do is get a house, then find 430
A slave to help you with your furrowing,
Female, unwed, an ox to plough behind,
Then in the house prepare the things you’ll need;
Don’t borrow lest you be refused and lack
All means and, as the hours duly speed
Along, your labour’s lost. Do not push back
Your toil for just one day: don’t drag your feet
And fight with ruin evermore. No, when
You feel no more the fierce sun’s sweaty heat
And mighty Zeus sends autumn rain, why, then 440
We move more quickly – that’s the time when we
See Sirius travelling less above us all,
Poor wretches, using night more, and that tree
You cut has shed its foliage in the fall,
No longer sprouting, and is less replete
With worm-holes. Now’s the time to fell your trees.
Cut with a drilling-mortar of three feet
And pestle of three cubits: you must seize
A seven-foot axle – that’s a perfect fit
(You’ll make a hammerhead with one of eight). 450
To have a ten-palm wagon, make for it
Four three-foot wagon-wheels. Wood that’s not straight
Is useful – gather lots for use within:
At home or in the mountains search for it.
Holm-oak is strongest for the plough: the pin
Is fixed on it, on which the pole will sit,
By craftsmen of Athene. But make two
Within your house, of one piece and compressed.
That’s better - if one breaks the other you
May use. Sound elm or laurel are the best 460
For poles. The stock should be of oak, the beam
Of holm-oak. Two bull oxen you should buy,
Both nine years old - a prime age, you may deem,
For strength. They toil the hardest nor will vie
In conflict in the furrows nor will break
The plough or leave the work undone. And now
A forty-year-old stalwart you should take
Who will, before he ventures out to plough,
Consume a quartered, eight-slice loaf, one who,
Skilled in his craft, will keep the furrow straight 470
Nor look around for comrades but stay true
To his pursuit. Born at a later date,
A man may never plough thus and may cause
A second sowing. Younger men, distract,
Will wink at comrades. Let this give you pause -
The crane’s high, yearly call means “time to act”
Start ploughing for it’s winter-time. It’s gall
To one who has no oxen: it will pay
To have horned oxen fattened in their stall.
It will be simple then for you to say 480
“Bring me my oxen and my wagon too”,
And it is also easy to reject
A friend and say “They have their work to do,
My oxen.” Merely mind-rich men expect
Their wagon’s made already, foolish men.
They don’t know that a hundred boards they’ll need.
Get all you need together and then, when
The ploughing term commences, with all speed,
You and your slaves, set out and plough straight through
The season, wet or dry; quick, at cockcrow, 490
That you may fill those furrows, plough; and you
Should plough in spring; the summer, should you go
On ploughing, won’t dismay you. Plough your field
When soil is light – such is a surety
For us and for our children forms a shield.
Pray, then, to Zeus, the god of husbandry,
And pure Demeter that she fill her grain.
First grab the handles of the plough and flick
The oxen as upon the straps they strain.
Then let a bondsman follow with a stick, 500
Close at your back, to hide the seed and cheat
The birds. For man good management’s supreme,
Bad management is worst. If you repeat
These steps, your fields of corn shall surely teem
With stalks which bow down low if in the end
Zeus brings a happy outcome and you’ve cleared
Your jars of cobwebs: then if you make fast
Your stores of food at home you will be cheered,
I think. You’ll be at ease until pale spring,
Nor will you gape at others – rather they’ll 510
Have need of you. Keep at your furrowing
Until the winter sun and surely fail
And reap sat down and seize within your hand
Your meagre crop and bind with dusty speed,
With many a frown, and take it from your land
Inside a basket, and few folk will waste
Their praise upon you. Aegis-bearing Zeus
Is changeable – his thoughts are hard to see.
If you plough late, this just may be of use:
When first the cuckoo calls on the oak-tree 520
And through the vast earth causes happiness,
Zeus rains non-stop for three days that the height
Of flood’s an ox’s hoof, no more, no less:
That way the man who ploughs but late just might
Equal the early plougher. All this you
Must do, and don’t permit pale spring to take
You by surprise, the rainy season, too.
Round public haunts and smithies you should make
A detour during winter when the cold
Keeps men from work, for then a busy man 530
May serve his house. Let hardship not take hold,
Nor helplessness, through cruel winter’s span,
Nor rub your swollen foot with scrawny hand.
An idle man will often, while in vain
He hopes, lacking a living from his land,
Consider crime. A needy man will gain
Nothing from hope while sitting in the street
And gossiping, no livelihood in sight.
Say to your slaves in the midsummer heat:
“There won’t always be summer, shining bright – 540
Build barns.” Lenaion’s evil days, which gall
The oxen, guard yourself against. Beware
Of hoar-frosts, too, which bring distress to all
When the North Wind blows, which blasts upon the air
In horse-rich Thrace and rouses the broad sea,
Making the earth and woods resound with wails.
He falls on many a lofty-leafed oak-tree
And on thick pines along the mountain-vales
And fecund earth, the vast woods bellowing.
The wild beasts, tails between their legs, all shake. 550
Although their shaggy hair is covering
Their hides, yet still the cold will always make
Their way straight through the hairiest beast. Straight through
An ox’s hide the North Wind blows and drills
Through long-haired goats. His strength, though, cannot do
Great harm to sheep who keep away all chills
With ample fleece. He makes old men stoop low
But soft-skinned maids he never will go through –
They stay indoors, who as yet do not know
Gold Aphrodite’s work, a comfort to 560
Their darling mothers, and their tender skin
They wash and smear with oil in winter’s space
And slumber in a bedroom far within
The house, when in his cold and dreadful place
The Boneless gnaws his foot (the sun won’t show
Him pastures but rotate around the land
Of black men and for all the Greeks is slow
To brighten). That’s the time the hornèd and
The unhorned beasts of the wood flee to the brush,
Teeth all a-chatter, with one thought in mind – 570
To find some thick-packed shelter, p’raps a bush
Or hollow rock. Like one with head inclined
Towards the ground, spine shattered, with a stick
To hold him up, they wander as they try
To circumvent the snow. As I ordain,
Shelter your body, too, when snow is nigh –
A fleecy coat and, reaching to the floor,
A tunic. Both the warp and woof must you
Entwine but of the woof there must be more
Than of the warp. Don this, for, if you do, 580
Your hair stays still, not shaking everywhere.
Be stoutly shod with ox-hide boots which you
Must line with felt. In winter have a care
To sew two young kids’ hides to the sinew
Of an ox to keep the downpour from your back,
A knit cap for your head to keep your ears
From getting wet. It’s freezing at the crack
Of dawn, which from the starry sky appears
When Boreas drops down: then is there spread
A fruitful mist upon the land which falls 590
Upon the blessed fields and which is fed
By endless rivers, raised on high by squalls.
Sometimes it rains at evening, then again,
When the thickly-compressed clouds are animated
By Thracian Boreas, it blows hard. Then
It is the time, having anticipated
All this, to finish and go home lest you
Should be enwrapped by some dark cloud, heaven-sent,
Your flesh all wet, your clothing drenched right through.
This is the harshest month, both violent 600
And harsh to beast and man – so you have need
To be alert. Give to your men more fare
Than usual but halve your oxen’s feed.
The helpful nights are long, and so take care.
Keep at this till the year’s end when the days
And nights are equal and a diverse crop
Springs from our mother earth and winter’s phase
Is two months old and from pure Ocean’s top
Arcturus rises, shining, at twilight.
Into the light then Pandion’s progeny, 610
The high-voiced swallow, comes at the first sight
Of spring. Before then, the best strategy
Is pruning of your vines. But when the snail
Climbs up the stems to flee the Pleiades,
Stop digging vineyards; now it’s of avail
To sharpen scythes and urge your men. Shun these
Two things – dark nooks and sleeping till cockcrow
At harvest-season when the sun makes dry
One’s skin. Bring in your crops and don’t be slow.
Rise early to secure your food supply. 620
For Dawn will cut your labour by a third,
Who aids your journey and you toil, through whom
Men find the road and put on many a herd
Of oxen many a yoke. When thistles bloom
And shrill cicadas chirp up in the trees
Nonstop beneath their wings, into our view
Comes summer, harbinger of drudgery,
Goats at their fattest, wine its choicest, too,
The women at their lustiest, though men
Are at their very weakest, head and knees 630
Being dried up by Sirius, for then
Their skin is parched. It is at times like these
I crave some rocky shade and Bibline wine,
A hunk of cheese, goat’s milk, meat from a beast
That’s pasture-fed, uncalved, or else I pine
For new-born kids. Contented with my feast,
I sit and drink the wine, so sparkling,
Facing the strong west wind, there in the shade,
And pour three-fourths of water from the spring,
A spring untroubled that will never fade, 640
Then urge your men to sift the holy corn
Of Demeter, when Orion first we see
In all his strength, upon the windy, worn
Threshing-floor. Then measure well the quantity
And take it home in urns. Now I urge you
To stockpile all your year’s supplies inside.
Dismiss your hired man and then in lieu
Seek out a childless maid (you won’t abide
One who is nursing). You must take good care
Of your sharp-toothed dog; do not scant his meat 650
In case The One Who Sleeps by Day should dare
To steal your goods. Let there be lots to eat
For both oxen and mules, and litter, too.
Unyoke your team and grant a holiday.
When rosy-fingered Dawn first gets a view
Of Arcturus and across the sky halfway
Come Sirius and Orion, pluck your store
Of grapes and bring them home; then to the sun
Expose them for ten days, then for five more
Conceal them in the dark; when this is done, 660
Upon the sixth begin to pour in jars
Glad Bacchus’ gift. When strong Orion’s set
And back into the sea decline the stars
Pleiades and Hyades, it’s time to get
Your plough out, Perses. Then, as it should be,
The year is finished. If on stormy seas
You long to sail, when into the dark,
To flee Orion’s rain, the Pleiades
Descend, abundant winds will blow: forbear
To keep at that time on the wine-dark sea 670
Your ships, but work your land with earnest care,
As I ordain. So that the potency
Of the wet winds may not affect your craft,
You must protect it on dry land, and tamp
It tight with stones on both sides, fore and aft.
Take out the plug that Zeus’s rain won’t damp
And rot the wood. The tackle store inside
And neatly fold the sails and then suspend
The well-made rudder over smoke, then bide
Your time until the season’s at an end 680
And you may sail. Then take down to the sea
Your speedy ship and then prepare the freight
To guarantee a gain, as formerly
Our father would his vessels navigate.
In earnest, foolish Perses, to possess
Great riches, once he journeyed to this place
From Cyme, fleeing not wealth or success
But grinding poverty, which many face
At Zeus’s hands. Near Helicon he dwelt
In a wretched village, Ascra, most severe 690
In winter, though an equal woe one felt
In summer, goods at no time. Perses, hear
My words – of every season’s toil take care,
Particularly sailing. Sure, approve
A little ship but let a large one bear
Your merchandise – the more of this you move,
The greater gain you make so long as you
Avoid strong winds. When you have turned to trade
Your foolish mind, in earnest to eschew
Distressful want and debits yet unpaid, 700
The stretches of the loud-resounding sea
I’ll teach you, though of everything marine
I am unlearned: yet on no odyssey
Upon the spacious ocean have I been –
Just to Euboea from Aulis (the great host
Of Greeks here waited out the stormy gale,
Who went from holy Greece to Troy, whose boast
Is comely women). I myself took sail
To Chalchis for the games of the genius
Archidamas: for many games had been 710
Arranged by children of that glorious,
Great man and advertised. I scored a win
For song and brought back home my accolade,
A two-eared tripod which I dedicated
To the Muses there in Helicon (I made
My debut there when I participated
In lovely song). Familiarity
With ships for me to this has been confined.
But since the Muses taught singing to me,
I’ll tell you aegis-bearing Zeus’s mind. 720
When fifty days beyond the solstice go
And toilsome summer’s ending, mortals can
Set sail upon the ocean, which will no
Seafarers slaughter, nor will any man
Shatter his ship, unless such is the will
Of earth-shaking Poseidon or our king,
Lord Zeus, who always judge both good and ill.
The sea is tranquil then, unwavering
The winds. Trust these and drag down to the sea
Your ship with confidence and place all freight 730
On board and then as swiftly as may be
Sail home and for the autumn rain don’t wait
Or fast-approaching blizzards, new-made wine,
The South Wind’s dreadful blasts – he stirs the sea
And brings downpours in spring and makes the brine
Inclement. Spring, too, grants humanity
The chance to sail. When first some leaves are seen
On fig-tree-tops, as tiny as the mark
A raven leaves, the sea becomes serene
For sailing. Though spring bids you to embark, 740
I’ll not praise it – it does not gladden me.
It’s hazardous, for you’ll avoid distress
With difficulty thus. Imprudently
Do men sail at that time – covetousness
Is their whole life, the wretches. For the seas
To take your life is dire. Listen to me:
Don’t place aboard all your commodities –
Leave most behind, place a small quantity
Aboard. To tax your cart too much and break
An axle, losing all, will bring distress. 750
Be moderate, for everyone should take
An apt approach. When you’re in readiness,
Get married. Thirty years, or very near,
Is apt for marriage. Now, past puberty
Your bride should go four years: in the fifth year
Wed her. That you may teach her modesty
Marry a maid. The best would be one who
Lives near you, but you must with care look round
Lest neighbours make a laughingstock of you.
A better choice for men cannot be found 760
Than a good woman, nor a worse one than
One who’s unworthy, say a sponging mare
Who will, without a torch, burn up a man
And bring him to a raw old age. Beware
Of angering the blessed ones – your friend
Is not your brother – treat them differently.
But if you don’t, don’t be first to offend.
Don’t lie. If he treats you offensively
In word or deed, then you should recompense
Him double, then, if he would be again 770
Your friend and pay the price for his offence,
Then take him back. They are all wretched men
Who go from friend to friend, so let your face
Not falsify your nature. Let none be
Able to call you comrade of the base
Or one who fights men of integrity
Or over-friendly or no friend at all.
Don’t chide a man for his pennilessness
That devastates and turns one’s soul to gall,
Because it is the Deathless Ones’ largesse. 780
A man’s best trait’s a thrifty tongue. Malign
Someone and you will very likely hear
Worse of yourself. When you are out to dine
With many folk at common feasts, don’t smear
Another, for the happiness is fine,
The cost a trifle. Wash your hands before
You start to sacrifice the sparkling wine
To Zeus or other gods – they’ll hark no more
And spit back all your prayers. Don’t urinate
Towards the sun, and when you’re travelling 790
Do not upon the highway micturate,
Nor off it either. From your frame don’t fling
Your garments – to the gods belongs the night.
A wise and reverent man will sit beside
The courtyard wall which keeps him out of sight.
Your sexual parts do not reveal but hide
Then after you make love. Don’t sow your seed
After a funeral, rather, having fed
At a god’s feast you should perform the deed.
When you a lovely stream of water find, 800
Don’t cross it till you’ve looked into that rill
And prayed and washed your hands in it. If you
Should cross with hands and errors unpurged still,
The gods will visit you with penance due
And cause you pain. And do not, when you’re dining
At a great feast to honour the gods, cut through
The dry shoots from the five-branched plant with shining
Iron, nor in the mixing-bowl, when you
Are drinking, leave the ladle - fatal blend!
Don’t leave your house half-built in case a crow 810
Should perch on it and misery portend.
A pot that is unblessed can bring you woe,
Therefore don’t eat or wash from it. Permit
No twelve-year- or twelve-month-old to be sat
Upon a sacred monument, for it
Will make him womanish, and make sure that
You don’t wash in a basin that has been
Just handled by a woman – punishment,
Should you do this, will for a time be keen.
If you should find a sacrifice unspent 820
Of flame, do not belittle things that we
Know nothing of – a god is angered thus.
In springs or rivers flowing to the sea
Don’t urinate – this point is serious.
It’s better not to vent your bowels there:
Thus you’ll stay fee of mortals’ wicked chat,
Which, though lightweight, is difficult to bear
And hard to lose. Such idle talk as that
Will not completely die when manifold
Folk use it, for it’s godlike. And observe 830
The days Zeus sends; make sure your slaves are told
To do likewise. The day that’s best to serve
To portion out all food and oversee
All work’s the thirtieth. These are the days
Of Counsellor Zeus: all prudent men agree
This is the truth. Upon these days we praise
The gods: first, fourth and seventh. It was then
Gold-girt Apollo first beheld the light,
Born of Leto: on the eighth and ninth day, when
The moon is waxing, it’s fitting and right 840
For men to work. When you would shear your sheep
Or pick your fruit, the twelfth and eleventh days
Are good, although it’s better that you keep
The twelfth, for then, beneath the morning’s rays,
The spider spins its web and floats in space
While clever ants their store are harvesting.
Your wife may then set up her loom and face
Her coming toil. No time for scattering
Your seeds in this month is the thirteenth, when
It’s best to raise your plants, though they’re unfit 850
For setting on the sixth, while yet for men
It is a good day to be born, though it
Is not for females, who should not be wed
Upon this day. Days One to Five well may
Inflict ill luck on women brought to bed
Of girls, but geld your kids and lambs that day
And build a sheepfold. Male births, though, create
Good luck, but boys born then will love to lie,
Taunt, flatter, chat in secret. On Day Eight
Geld boars and bawling bulls, then, by and by, 860
Upon the twelfth the labouring mules should be
Castrated too. The twentieth births males
Of wisdom. On the tenth prosperity
Attends male births, while wellbeing prevails
For girls upon the fourth. That time is fair
For training shuffling oxen, sheep as well,
And sharp-toothed dogs and labouring mules. Take care
To shun the fourth, at both its wane and swell –
Such days will eat your soul. Bring home a bride
On the auspicious fourth. The fifth you ought 870
To shun, whose pains will make you terrified.
Upon the fifth, the Furies, it is thought,
Helped Strife birth Horkos, who would bring heartache
To perjurors. Upon the seventh, take care,
Upon the well-worn threshing-floor, to take
To cast Demeter’s holy kernels there.
Let wood be gathered by a carpenter
To build your house, and let him bring enough
To build a ship and start constructing her
Upon the fourth. The ninth becomes less rough 880
Towards nightfall. The first ninth is quite free
Of woe for men and fine for coitus
For either sex and never totally
Unlikely, while the most salubrious
For opening up of jars and coupling
Your oxen, mules and speedy steeds (it’s known
To few) is the twentieth. You must bring
Upon that day the swift, oared ship you own
Down from her dock into the wine-dark sea:
This day by few is called its proper name. 890
Broach casks upon the fourth, for markedly
This is a holy day. Few, too, can claim
To know the twenty-first’s best at cockcrow,
The worst at dusk. These are of greatest use,
The rest are luckless, fickle, bland. Few know
These things, although opinions are diffuse.
From stepmother to mother goes each day.
Happy are they who know that these days bless
All men, guiltless before the gods, while they
Watch omens and avoid all wickedness. 900
The end of Hesiod's Work and Days