311Why should I speak of autumn's storms and stars, and, when the day is now shorter and the summer softer, what men must watch for? 313or when showery spring rushes down, when the bearded harvest has already bristled in the fields and when the milky corn swells on its green stalk? 316Often, when the farmer was bringing the reaper into his golden fields and was already stripping the barley on its brittle stalk, I have seen all the battles of the winds clash together, to tear up the heavy crop far and wide from its deepest roots, flung up on high; 320so would the storm with its black whirlwind carry off the light stalk and the flying stubble.
322Often too a vast column of waters comes in the sky, and clouds gathered from the deep roll together a foul storm with black rains; 324the steep sky rushes down and with mighty rain washes away the glad crops and the labours of oxen; 326the ditches fill and the hollow rivers swell with a roar, and the sea seethes in its heaving straits. 328The Father himself, in the midnight of the storm clouds, wields his thunderbolts with flashing right hand; 329at that motion the vast earth trembles; 330the beasts have fled, and through the nations humbling fear has laid mortal hearts low; 331he with his blazing bolt strikes down Athos or Rhodope or the high Ceraunians; 333the south winds redouble, and the rain falls densest; 334now the woods, now the shores wail under the mighty wind.
335Fearing this, watch the months and stars of heaven, where Saturn's cold star withdraws itself, into what circles the Cyllenian fire wanders in the sky. 338Above all worship the gods, and pay great Ceres her yearly rites, sacrificing on the glad grass at the very end of winter, when spring is already clear. 341Then lambs are fat and wines most mellow, then sleep is sweet and shadows thick on the mountains. 343Let all your country youth worship Ceres; 344for her dilute honeycombs with milk and mild wine, and let the lucky victim go three times around the new crops, and let the whole chorus and your comrades accompany it rejoicing, and call Ceres into their homes with shouting; 347and let no one put his sickle to the ripe ears before, his temples bound with twisted oak, he dances artless dances in honour of Ceres and sings songs.