The Salad. By Virgil Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDDCCEECCCCFFCC CCCCCCGGEECCHHIICCGG CCCCJJKLCCCCMMCCCCNN OOCCGGCCCCFFPPQQCCRR SSCCCCTTUUCCCCCCCCCC CCVVCCCCQQCCCCQQQQQQ FFGGGGQQCCCCCCCCWXGC QQQQCCCCQQCCCCYY

The winter night now well nigh worn awayA
The wakeful cock proclaimed approaching dayA
When Simulus poor tenant of a farmB
Of narrowest limits heard the shrill alarmB
Yawned stretched his limbs and anxious to provideC
Against the pangs of hunger unsuppliedC
By slow degrees his tattered bed forsookD
And poking in the dark explored the nookD
Where embers slept with ashes heaped aroundC
And with burnt fingers' ends the treasure foundC
It chanced that from a brand beneath his noseE
Sure proof of latent fire some smoke aroseE
When trimming with a pin the incrusted towC
And stooping it towards the coals belowC
He toils with cheeks distended to exciteC
The lingering flame and gains at length a lightC
With prudent heed he spreads his hand beforeF
The quivering lamp and opes his granary doorF
Small was his stock but taking for the dayC
A measured stint of twice eight pounds awayC
With these his mill he seeks A shelf at handC
Fixt in the wall affords his lamp a standC
Then baring both his arms a sleeveless coatC
He girds the rough exuviae of a goatC
And with a rubber for that use designedC
Cleansing his mill within begins to grindC
Each hand has its employ labouring amainG
This turns the winch while that supplies the grainG
The stone revolving rapidly now glowsE
And the bruised corn a mealy current flowsE
While he to make his heavy labour lightC
Tasks oft his left hand to relieve his rightC
And chants with rudest accent to beguileH
His ceaseless toil as rude a strain the whileH
And now 'Dame Cybale come forth ' he criesI
But Cybale still slumbering nought repliesI
From Afric she the swain's sole serving maidC
Whose face and form alike her birth betrayedC
With woolly locks lips tumid sable skinG
Wide bosom udders flaccid belly thinG
Legs slender broad and most misshapen feetC
Chapped into chinks and parched with solar heatC
Such summoned oft she came at his commandC
Fresh fuel heaped the sleeping embers fannedC
And made in haste her simmering skillet steamJ
Replenished newly from the neighbouring streamJ
The labours of the mill performed a sieveK
The mingled flour and bran must next receiveL
Which shaken oft shoots Ceres through refinedC
And better dressed her husks all left behindC
This done at once his future plain repastC
Unleavened on a shaven board he castC
The tepid lymph first largely soaked it allM
Then gathered it with both hands to a ballM
And spreading it again with both hands wideC
With sprinkled salt the stiffened mass suppliedC
At length the stubborn substance duly wroughtC
Takes from his palms impressed the shape it oughtC
Becomes an orb and quartered into sharesN
The faithful mark of just division bearsN
Last on his hearth it finds convenient spaceO
For Cybale before had swept the placeO
And there with tiles and embers overspreadC
She leaves it reeking in its sultry bedC
Nor Similus while Vulcan thus aloneG
His part performed proves heedless of his ownG
But sedulous not merely to subdueC
His hunger but to please his palate tooC
Prepares more savoury food His chimney sideC
Could boast no gammon salted well and driedC
And hooked behind him but sufficient storeF
Of bundled anise and a cheese it boreF
A broad round cheese which through its centre strungP
With a tough broom twig in the corner hungP
The prudent hero therefore with addressQ
And quick despatch now seeks another messQ
Close to his cottage lay a garden groundC
With reeds and osiers sparely girt aroundC
Small was the spot but liberal to produceR
Nor wanted aught that serves a peasant's useR
And sometimes even the rich would borrow thenceS
Although its tillage was his sole expenseS
For oft as from his toils abroad he ceasedC
Home bound by weather or some stated feastC
His debt of culture here he duly paidC
And only left the plough to wield the spadeC
He knew to give each plant the soil it needsT
To drill the ground and cover close the seedsT
And could with ease compel the wanton rillU
To turn and wind obedient to his willU
There flourished star wort and the branching beetC
The sorrel acid and the mallow sweetC
The skirret and the leek's aspiring kindC
The noxious poppy quencher of the mindC
Salubrious sequel of a sumptuous boardC
The lettuce and the long huge bellied gourdC
But these for none his appetite controlledC
With stricter sway the thrifty rustic soldC
With broom twigs neatly bound each kind apartC
He bore them ever to the public martC
Whence laden still but with a lighter loadC
Of each well earned he took his homeward roadC
Expending seldom ere he quitted RomeV
His gains in flesh meat for a feast at homeV
There at no cost on onions rank and redC
Or the curled endive's bitter leaf he fedC
On scallions sliced or with a sensual gustC
On rockets foul provocatives of lustC
Nor even shunned with smarting gums to pressQ
Nasturtium pungent face distorting messQ
Some such regale now also in his thoughtC
With hasty steps his garden ground he soughtC
There delving with his hands he first displacedC
Four plants of garlick large and rooted fastC
The tender tops of parsley next he cullsQ
Then the old rue bush shudders as he pullsQ
And Coriander last to these succeedsQ
That hands on slightest threads her trembling seedsQ
Placed near his sprightly fire he now demandsQ
The mortar at his sable servant's handsQ
When stripping all his garlick first he toreF
The exterior coats and cast them on the floorF
Then cast away with like contempt the skinG
Flimsier concealment of the cloves withinG
These searched and perfect found he one by oneG
Rinsed and disposed within the hollow stoneG
Salt added and a lump of salted cheeseQ
With his injected herbs he covered theseQ
And tucking with his left his tunic tightC
The garlick bruising first he soon expressedC
And mixed the various juices of the restC
He grinds and by degrees his herbs belowC
Lost in each other their own powers foregoC
Nor wholly green appear nor wholly whiteC
His nostrils oft the forceful fume resentC
He cursed full oft his dinner for its scentC
Or with wry faces wiping as he spokeW
The trickling tears cried 'Vengeance on the smoke 'X
The work proceeds not roughly turns he nowG
The pestle but in circles smoothe and slowC
With cautious hand that grudges what it spillsQ
Some drops of olive oil he next instilsQ
Then vinegar with caution scarcely lessQ
And gathering to a ball the medley messQ
Last with two fingers frugally appliedC
Sweeps the small remnant from the mortar's sideC
And thus complete in figure and in kindC
Obtains at length the Salad he designedC
And now black Cybale before him standsQ
The cake drawn newly glowing in her handsQ
He glad receives it chasing far awayC
All fears of famine for the passing dayC
His legs enclosed in buskins and his headC
In its tough casque of leather forth he ledC
And yoked his steers a dull obedient pairY
Then drove afield and plunged the pointed shareY

William Cowper



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