The PineAny tree else bears better fruit than thee,That Ida’s tops sustain, where every treeBears up in air such perspirable heights,And in which caves and sinuous receiptsCreep in such great abundance. For aboutThy foots, that ever all thy fruits put out,As nourish’d by them, equal with thy fruits,Pour Mars’s iron-mines their accurs’d pursuits.So that when any earth-encroaching man,Of all the martial brood Cebrenian,Plead need of iron, they are certain stillAbout thy roots to satiate every will.
Any tree else bears better fruit than thee,That Ida’s tops sustain, where every treeBears up in air such perspirable heights,And in which caves and sinuous receiptsCreep in such great abundance. For aboutThy foots, that ever all thy fruits put out,As nourish’d by them, equal with thy fruits,Pour Mars’s iron-mines their accurs’d pursuits.So that when any earth-encroaching man,Of all the martial brood Cebrenian,Plead need of iron, they are certain stillAbout thy roots to satiate every will.