O WHO can build with puissant breast a songWorthy the majesty of these great finds?Or who in words so strong that he can frameThe fit laudations for deserts of himWho left us heritors of such vast prizes,By his own breast discovered and sought out?--There shall be none, methinks, of mortal stock.For if must needs be named for him the nameDemanded by the now known majestyOf these high matters, then a god was he,--Hear me, illustrious Memmius--a god;Who first and chief found out that plan of lifeWhich now is called philosophy, and whoBy cunning craft, out of such mighty waves,Out of such mighty darkness, moored lifeIn havens so serene, in light so clear.Compare those old discoveries divineOf others: lo, according to the tale,Ceres established for mortalityThe grain, and Bacchus juice of vine-born grape,Though life might yet without these things abide,Even as report saith now some peoples live.But man's well-being was impossibleWithout a breast all free. Wherefore the moreThat man doth justly seem to us a god,From whom sweet solaces of life, afarDistributed o'er populous domains,Now soothe the minds of men. But if thou thinkestLabours of Hercules excel the same,Much farther from true reasoning thou farest.For what could hurt us now that mighty mawOf Nemeaean Lion, or what the BoarWho bristled in Arcadia? Or, again,O what could Cretan Bull, or Hydra, pestOf Lerna, fenced with vipers venomous?Or what the triple-breasted power of herThe three-fold Geryon...The sojourners in the Stymphalian fensSo dreadfully offend us, or the SteedsOf Thracian Diomedes breathing fireFrom out their nostrils off along the zonesBistonian and Ismarian? And the Snake,The dread fierce gazer, guardian of the goldenAnd gleaming apples of the Hesperides,Coiled round the tree-trunk with tremendous bulk,O what, again, could he inflict on usAlong the Atlantic shore and wastes of sea?--Where neither one of us approacheth nighNor no barbarian ventures. And the restOf all those monsters slain, even if alive,Unconquered still, what injury could they do?None, as I guess. For so the glutted earthSwarms even now with savage beasts, even nowIs filled with anxious terrors through the woodsAnd mighty mountains and the forest deeps--Quarters 'tis ours in general to avoid.But lest the breast be purged, what conflicts then,What perils, must bosom, in our own despite!O then how great and keen the cares of lustThat split the man distraught! How great the fears!And lo, the pride, grim greed, and wantonness--How great the slaughters in their train! and lo,Debaucheries and every breed of sloth!Therefore that man who subjugated these,And from the mind expelled, by words indeed,Not arms, O shall it not be seemly himTo dignify by ranking with the gods?--And all the more since he was wont to give,Concerning the immortal gods themselves,Many pronouncements with a tongue divine,And to unfold by his pronouncements allThe nature of the world.
And walking nowIn his own footprints, I do follow throughHis reasonings, and with pronouncements teachThe covenant whereby all things are framed,How under that covenant they must abideNor ever prevail to abrogate the aeons'Inexorable decrees,--how (as we've found),In class of mortal objects, o'er all else,The mind exists of earth-born frame createAnd impotent unscathed to abideAcross the mighty aeons, and how comeIn sleep those idol-apparitions,That so befool intelligence when weDo seem to view a man whom life has left.Thus far we've gone; the order of my planHath brought me now unto the point where IMust make report how, too, the universeConsists of mortal body, born in time,And in what modes that congregated stuffEstablished itself as earth and sky,Ocean, and stars, and sun, and ball of moon;And then what living creatures rose from outThe old telluric places, and what onesWere never born at all; and in what modeThe human race began to name its thingsAnd use the varied speech from man to man;And in what modes hath bosomed in their breastsThat awe of gods, which halloweth in all landsFanes, altars, groves, lakes, idols of the gods.Also I shall untangle by what powerThe steersman nature guides the sun's courses,And the meanderings of the moon, lest we,Percase, should fancy that of own free willThey circle their perennial courses round,Timing their motions for increase of cropsAnd living creatures, or lest we should thinkThey roll along by any plan of gods.For even those men who have learned full wellThat godheads lead a long life free of care,If yet meanwhile they wonder by what planThings can go on (and chiefly yon high thingsObserved o'erhead on the ethereal coasts),Again are hurried back unto the fearsOf old religion and adopt againHarsh masters, deemed almighty,--wretched men,Unwitting what can be and what cannot,And by what law to each its scope prescribed,Its boundary stone that clings so deep in Time.
But for the rest,--lest we delay thee hereLonger by empty promises--behold,Before all else, the seas, the lands, the sky:O Memmius, their threefold nature, lo,Their bodies three, three aspects so unlike,Three frames so vast, a single day shall giveUnto annihilation! Then shall crashThat massive form and fabric of the worldSustained so many aeons! Nor do IFail to perceive how strange and marvellousThis fact must strike the intellect of man,--Annihilation of the sky and earthThat is to be,--and with what toil of words'Tis mine to prove the same; as happens oftWhen once ye offer to man's listening earsSomething before unheard of, but may notSubject it to the view of eyes for himNor put it into hand--the sight and touch,Whereby the opened highways of beliefLead most directly into human breastAnd regions of intelligence. But yetI will speak out. The fact itself, perchance,Will force belief in these my words, and thouMayst see, in little time, tremendouslyWith risen commotions of the lands all thingsQuaking to pieces--which afar from usMay she, the steersman Nature, guide: and mayReason, O rather than the fact itself,Persuade us that all things can be o'erthrownAnd sink with awful-sounding breakage down!
But ere on this I take a step to utterOracles holier and soundlier basedThan ever the Pythian pronounced for menFrom out the tripod and the Delphian laurel,I will unfold for thee with learned wordsMany a consolation, lest perchance,Still bridled by religion, thou supposeLands, sun, and sky, sea, constellations, moon,Must dure forever, as of frame divine--And so conclude that it is just that those,(After the manner of the Giants), should allPay the huge penalties for monstrous crime,Who by their reasonings do overshakeThe ramparts of the universe and wishThere to put out the splendid sun of heaven,Branding with mortal talk immortal things--Though these same things are even so far removedFrom any touch of deity and seemSo far unworthy of numbering with the gods,That well they may be thought to furnish ratherA goodly instance of the sort of thingsThat lack the living motion, living sense.For sure 'tis quite beside the mark to thinkThat judgment and the nature of the mindIn any kind of body can exist--Just as in ether can't exist a tree,Nor clouds in the salt sea, nor in the fieldsCan fishes live, nor blood in timber be,Nor sap in boulders: fixed and arrangedWhere everything may grow and have its place.Thus nature of mind cannot arise aloneWithout the body, nor have its being farFrom thews and blood. Yet if 'twere possible?--Much rather might this very power of mindBe in the head, the shoulders, or the heels,And, born in any part soever, yetIn the same man, in the same vessel abideBut since within this body even of oursStands fixed and appears arranged sureWhere soul and mind can each exist and grow,Deny we must the more that they can dureOutside the body and the breathing formIn rotting clods of earth, in the sun's fire,In water, or in ether's skiey coasts.Therefore these things no whit are furnishedWith sense divine, since never can they beWith life-force quickened.
Likewise, thou canst ne'erBelieve the sacred seats of gods are hereIn any regions of this mundane world;Indeed, the nature of the gods, so subtle,So far removed from these our senses, scarceIs seen even by intelligence of mind.And since they've ever eluded touch and thrustOf human hands, they cannot reach to graspAught tangible to us. For what may notItself be touched in turn can never touch.Wherefore, besides, also their seats must beUnlike these seats of ours,--even subtle too,As meet for subtle essence--as I'll proveHereafter unto thee with large discourse.Further, to say that for the sake of menThey willed to prepare this world's magnificence,And that 'tis therefore duty and behoofTo praise the work of gods as worthy praise,And that 'tis sacrilege for men to shakeEver by any force from out their seatsWhat hath been stablished by the Forethought oldTo everlasting for races of mankind,And that 'tis sacrilege to assault by wordsAnd overtopple all from base to beam,--Memmius, such notions to concoct and pile,Is verily--to dote. Our gratefulness,O what emoluments could it conferUpon Immortals and upon the BlessedThat they should take a step to manage aughtFor sake of us? Or what new factor could,After so long a time, inveigle them--The hitherto reposeful--to desireTo change their former life? For rather heWhom old things chafe seems likely to rejoiceAt new; but one that in fore-passed timeHath chanced upon no ill, through goodly years,O what could ever enkindle in such an onePassion for strange experiment? Or whatThe evil for us, if we had ne'er been born?--As though, forsooth, in darkling realms and woeOur life were lying till should dawn at lastThe day-spring of creation! WhosoeverHath been begotten wills perforce to stayIn life, so long as fond delight detains;But whoso ne'er hath tasted love of life,And ne'er was in the count of living things,What hurts it him that he was never born?Whence, further, first was planted in the godsThe archetype for gendering the worldAnd the fore-notion of what man is like,So that they knew and pre-conceived with mindJust what they wished to make? Or how were knownEver the energies of primal germs,And what those germs, by interchange of place,Could thus produce, if nature's self had notGiven example for creating all?For in such wise primordials of things,Many in many modes, astir by blowsFrom immemorial aeons, in motion tooBy their own weights, have evermore been wontTo be so borne along and in all modesTo meet together and to try all sortsWhich, by combining one with other, theyAre powerful to create, that thus it isNo marvel now, if they have also fallenInto arrangements such, and if they've passedInto vibrations such, as those wherebyThis sum of things is carried on to-dayBy fixed renewal. But knew I never whatThe seeds primordial were, yet would I dareThis to affirm, even from deep judgments basedUpon the ways and conduct of the skies--This to maintain by many a fact besides--That in no wise the nature of all thingsFor us was fashioned by a power divine--So great the faults it stands encumbered with.First, mark all regions which are overarchedBy the prodigious reaches of the sky:One yawning part thereof the mountain-chainsAnd forests of the beasts do have and hold;And cliffs, and desert fens, and wastes of sea(Which sunder afar the beaches of the lands)Possess it merely; and, again, thereofWell-nigh two-thirds intolerable heatAnd a perpetual fall of frost doth robFrom mortal kind. And what is left to till,Even that the force of nature would o'errunWith brambles, did not human force oppose,--Long wont for livelihood to groan and sweatOver the two-pronged mattock and to cleaveThe soil in twain by pressing on the plough.
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Unless, by the ploughshare turning the fruitful clodsAnd kneading the mould, we quicken into birth,[The crops] spontaneously could not come upInto the free bright air. Even then sometimes,When things acquired by the sternest toilAre now in leaf, are now in blossom all,Either the skiey sun with baneful heatsParches, or sudden rains or chilling rimeDestroys, or flaws of winds with furious whirlTorment and twist. Beside these matters, whyDoth nature feed and foster on land and seaThe dreadful breed of savage beasts, the foesOf the human clan? Why do the seasons bringDistempers with them? Wherefore stalks at largeDeath, so untimely? Then, again, the babe,Like to the castaway of the raging surf,Lies naked on the ground, speechless, in wantOf every help for life, when nature firstHath poured him forth upon the shores of lightWith birth-pangs from within the mother's womb,And with a plaintive wail he fills the place,--As well befitting one for whom remainsIn life a journey through so many ills.But all the flocks and herds and all wild beastsCome forth and grow, nor need the little rattles,Nor must be treated to the humouring nurse'sDear, broken chatter; nor seek they divers clothesTo suit the changing skies; nor need, in fine,Nor arms, nor lofty ramparts, wherewithalTheir own to guard--because the earth herselfAnd nature, artificer of the world, bring forthAboundingly all things for all.
THE WORLD IS NOT ETERNAL
And first,Since body of earth and water, air's light breath,And fiery exhalations (of which fourThis sum of things is seen to be compact)So all have birth and perishable frame,Thus the whole nature of the world itselfMust be conceived as perishable too.For, verily, those things of which we seeThe parts and members to have birth in timeAnd perishable shapes, those same we markTo be invariably born in timeAnd born to die. And therefore when I seeThe mightiest members and the parts of thisOur world consumed and begot again,'Tis mine to know that also sky aboveAnd earth beneath began of old in timeAnd shall in time go under to disaster.
And lest in these affairs thou deemest meTo have seized upon this point by sleight to serveMy own caprice--because I have assumedThat earth and fire are mortal things indeed,And have not doubted water and the airBoth perish too and have affirmed the sameTo be again begotten and wax big--Mark well the argument: in first place, lo,Some certain parts of earth, grievously parchedBy unremitting suns, and trampled onBy a vast throng of feet, exhale abroadA powdery haze and flying clouds of dust,Which the stout winds disperse in the whole air.A part, moreover, of her sod and soilIs summoned to inundation by the rains;And rivers graze and gouge the banks away.Besides, whatever takes a part its ownIn fostering and increasing [aught]...
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Is rendered back; and since, beyond a doubt,Earth, the all-mother, is beheld to beLikewise the common sepulchre of things,Therefore thou seest her minished of her plenty,And then again augmented with new growth.
And for the rest, that sea, and streams, and springsForever with new waters overflow,And that perennially the fluids well,Needeth no words--the mighty flux itselfOf multitudinous waters round aboutDeclareth this. But whatso water firstStreams up is ever straightway carried off,And thus it comes to pass that all in allThere is no overflow; in part becauseThe burly winds (that over-sweep amain)And skiey sun (that with his rays dissolves)Do minish the level seas; in part becauseThe water is diffused undergroundThrough all the lands. The brine is filtered off,And then the liquid stuff seeps back againAnd all regathers at the river-heads,Whence in fresh-water currents on it flowsOver the lands, adown the channels whichWere cleft erstwhile and erstwhile bore alongThe liquid-footed floods.
Now, then, of airI'll speak, which hour by hour in all its bodyIs changed innumerably. For whatso'erStreams up in dust or vapour off of things,The same is all and always borne alongInto the mighty ocean of the air;And did not air in turn restore to thingsBodies, and thus recruit them as they stream,All things by this time had resolved beenAnd changed into air. Therefore it neverCeases to be engendered off of thingsAnd to return to things, since verilyIn constant flux do all things stream.
Likewise,The abounding well-spring of the liquid light,The ethereal sun, doth flood the heaven o'erWith constant flux of radiance ever new,And with fresh light supplies the place of light,Upon the instant. For whatever effulgenceHath first streamed off, no matter where it falls,Is lost unto the sun. And this 'tis thineTo know from these examples: soon as cloudsHave first begun to under-pass the sun,And, as it were, to rend the rays of lightIn twain, at once the lower part of themIs lost entire, and earth is overcastWhere'er the thunderheads are rolled along--So know thou mayst that things forever needA fresh replenishment of gleam and glow,And each effulgence, foremost flashed forth,Perisheth one by one. Nor otherwiseCan things be seen in sunlight, lest alwayThe fountain-head of light supply new light.Indeed your earthly beacons of the night,The hanging lampions and the torches, brightWith darting gleams and dense with livid soot,Do hurry in like manner to supplyWith ministering heat new light amain;Are all alive to quiver with their fires,--Are so alive, that thus the light ne'er leavesThe spots it shines on, as if rent in twain:So speedily is its destruction veiledBy the swift birth of flame from all the fires.Thus, then, we must suppose that sun and moonAnd stars dart forth their light from under-birthsEver and ever new, and whatso flamesFirst rise do perish always one by one--Lest, haply, thou shouldst think they each endureInviolable.
Again, perceivest notHow stones are also conquered by Time?--Not how the lofty towers ruin down,And boulders crumble?--Not how shrines of godsAnd idols crack outworn?--Nor how indeedThe holy Influence hath yet no powerThere to postpone the Terminals of Fate,Or headway make 'gainst Nature's fixed decrees?Again, behold we not the monumentsOf heroes, now in ruins, asking us,In their turn likewise, if we don't believeThey also age with eld? Behold we notThe rended basalt ruining amainDown from the lofty mountains, powerlessTo dure and dree the mighty forces thereOf finite time?--for they would never fallRended asudden, if from infinite PastThey had prevailed against all engin'riesOf the assaulting aeons, with no crash.
Again, now look at This, which round, above,Contains the whole earth in its one embrace:If from itself it procreates all things--As some men tell--and takes them to itselfWhen once destroyed, entirely must it beOf mortal birth and body; for whate'erFrom out itself giveth to other thingsIncrease and food, the same perforce must beMinished, and then recruited when it takesThings back into itself.
Besides all this,If there had been no origin-in-birthOf lands and sky, and they had ever beenThe everlasting, why, ere Theban warAnd obsequies of Troy, have other bardsNot also chanted other high affairs?Whither have sunk so oft so many deedsOf heroes? Why do those deeds live no more,Ingrafted in eternal monumentsOf glory? Verily, I guess, becauseThe Sum is new, and of a recent dateThe nature of our universe, and hadNot long ago its own exordium.Wherefore, even now some arts are being stillRefined, still increased: now unto shipsIs being added many a new device;And but the other day musician-folkGave birth to melic sounds of organing;And, then, this nature, this account of thingsHath been discovered latterly, and IMyself have been discovered only now,As first among the first, able to turnThe same into ancestral Roman speech.Yet if, percase, thou deemest that ere thisExisted all things even the same, but thatPerished the cycles of the human raceIn fiery exhalations, or cities fellBy some tremendous quaking of the world,Or rivers in fury, after constant rains,Had plunged forth across the lands of earthAnd whelmed the towns--then, all the more must thouConfess, defeated by the argument,That there shall be annihilation tooOf lands and sky. For at a time when thingsWere being taxed by maladies so great,And so great perils, if some cause more fellHad then assailed them, far and wide they wouldHave gone to disaster and supreme collapse.And by no other reasoning are weSeen to be mortal, save that all of usSicken in turn with those same maladiesWith which have sickened in the past those menWhom nature hath removed from life.
*****gain,Whatever abides eternal must indeedEither repel all strokes, because 'tis madeOf solid body, and permit no entranceOf aught with power to sunder from withinThe parts compact--as are those seeds of stuffWhose nature we've exhibited before;Or else be able to endure through timeFor this: because they are from blows exempt,As is the void, the which abides untouched,Unsmit by any stroke; or else becauseThere is no room around, whereto things can,As 'twere, depart in dissolution all,--Even as the sum of sums eternal is,Without or place beyond whereto things mayAsunder fly, or bodies which can smite,And thus dissolve them by the blows of might.But not of solid body, as I've shown,Exists the nature of the world, becauseIn things is intermingled there a void;Nor is the world yet as the void, nor are,Moreover, bodies lacking which, percase,Rising from out the infinite, can fellWith fury-whirlwinds all this sum of things,Or bring upon them other cataclysmOf peril strange; and yonder, too, abidesThe infinite space and the profound abyss--Whereinto, lo, the ramparts of the worldCan yet be shivered. Or some other powerCan pound upon them till they perish all.Thus is the door of doom, O nowise barredAgainst the sky, against the sun and earthAnd deep-sea waters, but wide open standsAnd gloats upon them, monstrous and agape.Wherefore, again, 'tis needful to confessThat these same things are born in time; for thingsWhich are of mortal body could indeedNever from infinite past until to-dayHave spurned the multitudinous assaultsOf the immeasurable aeons old.
Again, since battle so fiercely one with otherThe four most mighty members the world,Aroused in an all unholy war,Seest not that there may be for them an endOf the long strife?--Or when the skiey sunAnd all the heat have won dominion o'erThe sucked-up waters all?--And this they tryStill to accomplish, though as yet they fail,--For so aboundingly the streams supplyNew store of waters that 'tis rather theyWho menace the world with inundations vastFrom forth the unplumbed chasms of the sea.But vain--since winds (that over-sweep amain)And skiey sun (that with his rays dissolves)Do minish the level seas and trust their powerTo dry up all, before the waters canArrive at the end of their endeavouring.Breathing such vasty warfare, they contendIn balanced strife the one with other stillConcerning mighty issues,--though indeedThe fire was once the more victorious,And once--as goes the tale--the water wonA kingdom in the fields. For fire o'ermasteredAnd licked up many things and burnt away,What time the impetuous horses of the SunSnatched Phaethon headlong from his skiey roadDown the whole ether and over all the lands.But the omnipotent Father in keen wrathThen with the sudden smite of thunderboltDid hurl the mighty-minded hero offThose horses to the earth. And Sol, his sire,Meeting him as he fell, caught up in handThe ever-blazing lampion of the world,And drave together the pell-mell horses thereAnd yoked them all a-tremble, and amain,Steering them over along their own old road,Restored the cosmos,--as forsooth we hearFrom songs of ancient poets of the Greeks--A tale too far away from truth, meseems.For fire can win when from the infiniteHas risen a larger throng of particlesOf fiery stuff; and then its powers succumb,Somehow subdued again, or else at lastIt shrivels in torrid atmospheres the world.And whilom water too began to win--As goes the story--when it overwhelmedThe lives of men with billows; and thereafter,When all that force of water-stuff which forthFrom out the infinite had risen upDid now retire, as somehow turned aside,The rain-storms stopped, and streams their fury checked.
FORMATION OF THE WORLD ANDASTRONOMICAL QUESTIONS
But in what modes that conflux of first-stuffDid found the multitudinous universeOf earth, and sky, and the unfathomed deepsOf ocean, and courses of the sun and moon,I'll now in order tell. For of a truthNeither by counsel did the primal germs'Stablish themselves, as by keen act of mind,Each in its proper place; nor did they make,Forsooth, a compact how each germ should move;But, lo, because primordials of things,Many in many modes, astir by blowsFrom immemorial aeons, in motion tooBy their own weights, have evermore been wontTo be so borne along and in all modesTo meet together and to try all sortsWhich, by combining one with other, theyAre powerful to create: because of thisIt comes to pass that those primordials,Diffused far and wide through mighty aeons,The while they unions try, and motions too,Of every kind, meet at the last amain,And so become oft the commencements fitOf mighty things--earth, sea, and sky, and raceOf living creatures.
In that long-agoThe wheel of the sun could nowhere be discernedFlying far up with its abounding blaze,Nor constellations of the mighty world,Nor ocean, nor heaven, nor even earth nor air.Nor aught of things like unto things of oursCould then be seen--but only some strange stormAnd a prodigious hurly-burly massCompounded of all kinds of primal germs,Whose battling discords in disorder keptInterstices, and paths, coherencies,And weights, and blows, encounterings, and motions,Because, by reason of their forms unlikeAnd varied shapes, they could not all thuswiseRemain conjoined nor harmoniouslyHave interplay of movements. But from therePortions began to fly asunder, and likeWith like to join, and to block out a world,And to divide its members and disposeIts mightier parts--that is, to set secureThe lofty heavens from the lands, and causeThe sea to spread with waters separate,And fires of ether separate and pureLikewise to congregate apart.
For, lo,First came together the earthy particles(As being heavy and intertangled) thereIn the mid-region, and all began to takeThe lowest abodes; and ever the more they gotOne with another intertangled, the moreThey pressed from out their mass those particlesWhich were to form the sea, the stars, the sun,And moon, and ramparts of the mighty world--For these consist of seeds more smooth and roundAnd of much smaller elements than earth.And thus it was that ether, fraught with fire,First broke away from out the earthen parts,Athrough the innumerable pores of earth,And raised itself aloft, and with itselfBore lightly off the many starry fires;And not far otherwise we often see
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And the still lakes and the perennial streamsExhale a mist, and even as earth herselfIs seen at times to smoke, when first at dawnThe light of the sun, the many-rayed, beginsTo redden into gold, over the grassBegemmed with dew. When all of these are broughtTogether overhead, the clouds on highWith now concreted body weave a coverBeneath the heavens. And thuswise ether too,Light and diffusive, with concreted bodyOn all sides spread, on all sides bent itselfInto a dome, and, far and wide diffusedOn unto every region on all sides,Thus hedged all else within its greedy clasp.Hard upon ether came the originsOf sun and moon, whose globes revolve in airMidway between the earth and mightiest ether,--For neither took them, since they weighed too littleTo sink and settle, but too much to glideAlong the upmost shores; and yet they areIn such a wise midway between the twainAs ever to whirl their living bodies round,And ever to dure as parts of the wide Whole;In the same fashion as certain members mayIn us remain at rest, whilst others move.When, then, these substances had been withdrawn,Amain the earth, where now extend the vastCerulean zones of all the level seas,Caved in, and down along the hollows pouredThe whirlpools of her brine; and day by dayThe more the tides of ether and rays of sunOn every side constrained into one massThe earth by lashing it again, again,Upon its outer edges (so that then,Being thus beat upon, 'twas all condensedAbout its proper centre), ever the moreThe salty sweat, from out its body squeezed,Augmented ocean and the fields of foamBy seeping through its frame, and all the moreThose many particles of heat and airEscaping, began to fly aloft, and form,By condensation there afar from earth,The high refulgent circuits of the heavens.The plains began to sink, and windy slopesOf the high mountains to increase; for rocksCould not subside, nor all the parts of groundSettle alike to one same level there.
Thus, then, the massy weight of earth stood firmWith now concreted body, when (as 'twere)All of the slime of the world, heavy and gross,Had run together and settled at the bottom,Like lees or bilge. Then ocean, then the air,Then ether herself, the fraught-with-fire, were allLeft with their liquid bodies pure and free,And each more lighter than the next below;And ether, most light and liquid of the three,Floats on above the long aerial winds,Nor with the brawling of the winds of airMingles its liquid body. It doth leaveAll there--those under-realms below her heights--There to be overset in whirlwinds wild,--Doth leave all there to brawl in wayward gusts,Whilst, gliding with a fixed impulse still,Itself it bears its fires along. For, lo,That ether can flow thus steadily on, on,With one unaltered urge, the Pontus proves--That sea which floweth forth with fixed tides,Keeping one onward tenor as it glides.
And that the earth may there abide at restIn the mid-region of the world, it needsMust vanish bit by bit in weight and lessen,And have another substance underneath,Conjoined to it from its earliest ageIn linked unison with the vasty world'sRealms of the air in which it roots and lives.On this account, the earth is not a load,Nor presses down on winds of air beneath;Even as unto a man his members beWithout all weight--the head is not a loadUnto the neck; nor do we feel the wholeWeight of the body to centre in the feet.But whatso weights come on us from without,Weights laid upon us, these harass and chafe,Though often far lighter. For to such degreeIt matters always what the innate powersOf any given thing may be. The earthWas, then, no alien substance fetched amain,And from no alien firmament cast downOn alien air; but was conceived, like air,In the first origin of this the world,As a fixed portion of the same, as nowOur members are seen to be a part of us.
Besides, the earth, when of a sudden shookBy the big thunder, doth with her motion shakeAll that's above her--which she ne'er could doBy any means, were earth not bounden fastUnto the great world's realms of air and sky:For they cohere together with common roots,Conjoined both, even from their earliest age,In linked unison. Aye, seest thou notThat this most subtle energy of soulSupports our body, though so heavy a weight,--Because, indeed, 'tis with it so conjoinedIn linked unison? What power, in sum,Can raise with agile leap our body aloft,Save energy of mind which steers the limbs?Now seest thou not how powerful may beA subtle nature, when conjoined it isWith heavy body, as air is with the earthConjoined, and energy of mind with us?
Now let us sing what makes the stars to move.In first place, if the mighty sphere of heavenRevolveth round, then needs we must averThat on the upper and the under polePresses a certain air, and from withoutConfines them and encloseth at each end;And that, moreover, another air aboveStreams on athwart the top of the sphere and tendsIn same direction as are rolled alongThe glittering stars of the eternal world;Or that another still streams on belowTo whirl the sphere from under up and onIn opposite direction--as we seeThe rivers turn the wheels and water-scoops.It may be also that the heavens do allRemain at rest, whilst yet are borne alongThe lucid constellations; either becauseSwift tides of ether are by sky enclosed,And whirl around, seeking a passage out,And everywhere make roll the starry firesThrough the Summanian regions of the sky;Or else because some air, streaming alongFrom an eternal quarter off beyond,Whileth the driven fires, or, then, becauseThe fires themselves have power to creep along,Going wherever their food invites and calls,And feeding their flaming bodies everywhereThroughout the sky. Yet which of these is causeIn this our world 'tis hard to say for sure;But what can be throughout the universe,In divers worlds on divers plan create,This only do I show, and follow onTo assign unto the motions of the starsEven several causes which 'tis possibleExist throughout the universal All;Of which yet one must be the cause even hereWhich maketh motion for our constellations.Yet to decide which one of them it beIs not the least the business of a manAdvancing step by cautious step, as I.
Nor can the sun's wheel larger be by muchNor its own blaze much less than either seemsUnto our senses. For from whatso spacesFires have the power on us to cast their beamsAnd blow their scorching exhalations forthAgainst our members, those same distancesTake nothing by those intervals awayFrom bulk of flames; and to the sight the fireIs nothing shrunken. Therefore, since the heatAnd the outpoured light of skiey sunArrive our senses and caress our limbs,Form too and bigness of the sun must lookEven here from earth just as they really be,So that thou canst scarce nothing take or add.And whether the journeying moon illuminateThe regions round with bastard beams, or throwFrom off her proper body her own light,--Whichever it be, she journeys with a formNaught larger than the form doth seem to beWhich we with eyes of ours perceive. For allThe far removed objects of our gazeSeem through much air confused in their lookEre minished in their bigness. Wherefore, moon,Since she presents bright look and clear-cut form,May there on high by us on earth be seenJust as she is with extreme bounds defined,And just of the size. And lastly, whatso firesOf ether thou from earth beholdest, theseThou mayst consider as possibly of sizeThe least bit less, or larger by a hairThan they appear--since whatso fires we viewHere in the lands of earth are seen to changeFrom time to time their size to less or moreOnly the least, when more or less away,So long as still they bicker clear, and stillTheir glow's perceived.
Nor need there be for menAstonishment that yonder sun so smallCan yet send forth so great a light as fillsOceans and all the lands and sky aflood,And with its fiery exhalations steepsThe world at large. For it may be, indeed,That one vast-flowing well-spring of the wholeWide world from here hath opened and out-gushed,And shot its light abroad; because thuswiseThe elements of fiery exhalationsFrom all the world around together come,And thuswise flow into a bulk so bigThat from one single fountain-head may streamThis heat and light. And seest thou not, indeed,How widely one small water-spring may wetThe meadow-lands at times and flood the fields?'Tis even possible, besides, that heatFrom forth the sun's own fire, albeit that fireBe not a great, may permeate the airWith the fierce hot--if but, perchance, the airBe of condition and so tempered thenAs to be kindled, even when beat uponOnly by little particles of heat--Just as we sometimes see the standing grainOr stubble straw in conflagration allFrom one lone spark. And possibly the sun,Agleam on high with rosy lampion,Possesses about him with invisible heatsA plenteous fire, by no effulgence marked,So that he maketh, he, the Fraught-with-fire,Increase to such degree the force of rays.
Nor is there one sure cause revealed to menHow the sun journeys from his summer hauntsOn to the mid-most winter turning-pointsIn Capricorn, the thence reverting veersBack to solstitial goals of Cancer; norHow 'tis the moon is seen each month to crossThat very distance which in traversingThe sun consumes the measure of a year.I say, no one clear reason hath been givenFor these affairs. Yet chief in likelihoodSeemeth the doctrine which the holy thoughtOf great Democritus lays down: that everThe nearer the constellations be to earthThe less can they by whirling of the skyBe borne along, because those skiey powersOf speed aloft do vanish and decreaseIn under-regions, and the sun is thusLeft by degrees behind amongst those signsThat follow after, since the sun he liesFar down below the starry signs that blaze;And the moon lags even tardier than the sun:In just so far as is her course removedFrom upper heaven and nigh unto the lands,In just so far she fails to keep the paceWith starry signs above; for just so farAs feebler is the whirl that bears her on,(Being, indeed, still lower than the sun),In just so far do all the starry signs,Circling around, o'ertake her and o'erpass.Therefore it happens that the moon appearsMore swiftly to return to any signAlong the Zodiac, than doth the sun,Because those signs do visit her againMore swiftly than they visit the great sun.It can be also that two streams of airAlternately at fixed periodsBlow out from transverse regions of the world,Of which the one may thrust the sun awayFrom summer-signs to mid-most winter goalsAnd rigors of the cold, and the other thenMay cast him back from icy shades of chillEven to the heat-fraught regions and the signsThat blaze along the Zodiac. So, too,We must suppose the moon and all the stars,Which through the mighty and sidereal yearsRoll round in mighty orbits, may be spedBy streams of air from regions alternate.Seest thou not also how the clouds be spedBy contrary winds to regions contrary,The lower clouds diversely from the upper?Then, why may yonder stars in ether thereAlong their mighty orbits not be borneBy currents opposite the one to other?
But night o'erwhelms the lands with vasty murkEither when sun, after his diurnal course,Hath walked the ultimate regions of the skyAnd wearily hath panted forth his fires,Shivered by their long journeying and wastedBy traversing the multitudinous air,Or else because the self-same force that draveHis orb along above the lands compelsHim then to turn his course beneath the lands.Matuta also at a fixed hourSpreadeth the roseate morning out alongThe coasts of heaven and deploys the light,Either because the self-same sun, returningUnder the lands, aspires to seize the sky,Striving to set it blazing with his raysEre he himself appear, or else becauseFires then will congregate and many seedsOf heat are wont, even at a fixed time,To stream together--gendering evermoreNew suns and light. Just so the story goesThat from the Idaean mountain-tops are seenDispersed fires upon the break of dayWhich thence combine, as 'twere, into one ballAnd form an orb. Nor yet in these affairsIs aught for wonder that these seeds of fireCan thus together stream at time so fixedAnd shape anew the splendour of the sun.For many facts we see which come to passAt fixed time in all things: burgeon shrubsAt fixed time, and at a fixed timeThey cast their flowers; and Eld commands the teeth,At time as surely fixed, to drop away,And Youth commands the growing boy to bloomWith the soft down and let from both his cheeksThe soft beard fall. And lastly, thunder-bolts,Snow, rains, clouds, winds, at seasons of the yearNowise unfixed, all do come to pass.For where, even from their old primordial startCauses have ever worked in such a way,And where, even from the world's first origin,Thuswise have things befallen, so even nowAfter a fixed order they come roundIn sequence also.
Likewise, days may waxWhilst the nights wane, and daylight minished beWhilst nights do take their augmentations,Either because the self-same sun, coursingUnder the lands and over in two arcs,A longer and a briefer, doth dispartThe coasts of ether and divides in twainHis orbit all unequally, and adds,As round he's borne, unto the one half thereAs much as from the other half he's ta'en,Until he then arrives that sign of heavenWhere the year's node renders the shades of nightEqual unto the periods of light.For when the sun is midway on his courseBetween the blasts of northwind and of south,Heaven keeps his two goals parted equally,By virtue of the fixed position oldOf the whole starry Zodiac, through whichThat sun, in winding onward, takes a year,Illumining the sky and all the landsWith oblique light--as men declare to usWho by their diagrams have charted wellThose regions of the sky which be adornedWith the arranged signs of Zodiac.Or else, because in certain parts the airUnder the lands is denser, the tremulousBright beams of fire do waver tardily,Nor easily can penetrate that airNor yet emerge unto their rising-place:For this it is that nights in winter timeDo linger long, ere comes the many-rayedRound Badge of the day. Or else because, as said,In alternating seasons of the yearFires, now more quick, and now more slow, are wontTo stream together,--the fires which make the sunTo rise in some one spot--therefore it isThat those men seem to speak the truth [who holdA new sun is with each new daybreak born].
The moon she possibly doth shine becauseStrook by the rays of sun, and day by dayMay turn unto our gaze her light, the moreShe doth recede from orb of sun, until,Facing him opposite across the world,She hath with full effulgence gleamed abroad,And, at her rising as she soars above,Hath there observed his setting; thence likewiseShe needs must hide, as 'twere, her light behindBy slow degrees, the nearer now she glides,Along the circle of the Zodiac,From her far place toward fires of yonder sun,--As those men hold who feign the moon to beJust like a ball and to pursue a courseBetwixt the sun and earth. There is, again,Some reason to suppose that moon may rollWith light her very own, and thus displayThe varied shapes of her resplendence there.For near her is, percase, another body,Invisible, because devoid of light,Borne on and gliding all along with her,Which in three modes may block and blot her disk.Again, she may revolve upon herself,Like to a ball's sphere--if perchance that be--One half of her dyed o'er with glowing light,And by the revolution of that sphereShe may beget for us her varying shapes,Until she turns that fiery part of herFull to the sight and open eyes of men;Thence by slow stages round and back she whirls,Withdrawing thus the luminiferous partOf her sphered mass and ball, as, verily,The Babylonian doctrine of Chaldees,Refuting the art of Greek astrologers,Labours, in opposition, to prove sure--As if, forsooth, the thing for which each fights,Might not alike be true,--or aught there wereWherefore thou mightest risk embracing oneMore than the other notion. Then, again,Why a new moon might not forevermoreCreated be with fixed successions thereOf shapes and with configurations fixed,And why each day that bright created moonMight not miscarry and another be,In its stead and place, engendered anew,'Tis hard to show by reason, or by wordsTo prove absurd--since, lo, so many thingsCan be create with fixed successions:Spring-time and Venus come, and Venus' boy,The winged harbinger, steps on before,And hard on Zephyr's foot-prints Mother Flora,Sprinkling the ways before them, filleth allWith colours and with odours excellent;Whereafter follows arid Heat, and heCompanioned is by Ceres, dusty one,And by the Etesian Breezes of the north;Then cometh Autumn on, and with him stepsLord Bacchus, and then other Seasons tooAnd other Winds do follow--the high roarOf great Volturnus, and the Southwind strongWith thunder-bolts. At last earth's Shortest-DayBears on to men the snows and brings againThe numbing cold. And Winter follows her,His teeth with chills a-chatter. Therefore, 'tisThe less a marvel, if at fixed timeA moon is thus begotten and againAt fixed time destroyed, since things so manyCan come to being thus at fixed time.Likewise, the sun's eclipses and the moon'sFar occultations rightly thou mayst deem
As due to several causes. For, indeed,Why should the moon be able to shut outEarth from the light of sun, and on the sideTo earthward thrust her high head under sun,Opposing dark orb to his glowing beams--And yet, at same time, one suppose the effectCould not result from some one other bodyWhich glides devoid of light forevermore?Again, why could not sun, in weakened state,At fixed time for-lose his fires, and then,When he has passed on along the airBeyond the regions, hostile to his flames,That quench and kill his fires, why could not heRenew his light? And why should earth in turnHave power to rob the moon of light, and there,Herself on high, keep the sun hid beneath,Whilst the moon glideth in her monthly courseAthrough the rigid shadows of the cone?--And yet, at same time, some one other bodyNot have the power to under-pass the moon,Or glide along above the orb of sun,Breaking his rays and outspread light asunder?And still, if moon herself refulgent beWith her own sheen, why could she not at timesIn some one quarter of the mighty worldGrow weak and weary, whilst she passeth throughRegions unfriendly to the beams her own?
ORIGINS OF VEGETABLE AND ANIMAL LIFE
And now to what remains!--Since I've resolvedBy what arrangements all things come to passThrough the blue regions of the mighty world,--How we can know what energy and causeStarted the various courses of the sunAnd the moon's goings, and by what far meansThey can succumb, the while with thwarted light,And veil with shade the unsuspecting lands,When, as it were, they blink, and then againWith open eye survey all regions wide,Resplendent with white radiance--I do nowReturn unto the world's primeval ageAnd tell what first the soft young fields of earthWith earliest parturition had decreedTo raise in air unto the shores of lightAnd to entrust unto the wayward winds.In the beginning, earth gave forth, aroundThe hills and over all the length of plains,The race of grasses and the shining green;The flowery meadows sparkled all aglowWith greening colour, and thereafter, lo,Unto the divers kinds of trees was givenAn emulous impulse mightily to shoot,With a free rein, aloft into the air.As feathers and hairs and bristles are begotThe first on members of the four-foot breedsAnd on the bodies of the strong-y-winged,Thus then the new Earth first of all put forthGrasses and shrubs, and afterward begatThe mortal generations, there upsprung--Innumerable in modes innumerable--After diverging fashions. For from skyThese breathing-creatures never can have dropped,Nor the land-dwellers ever have come upOut of sea-pools of salt. How true remains,How merited is that adopted nameOf earth--"The Mother!"--since from out the earthAre all begotten. And even now ariseFrom out the loams how many living things--Concreted by the rains and heat of the sun.Wherefore 'tis less a marvel, if they sprangIn Long Ago more many, and more big,Matured of those days in the fresh young yearsOf earth and ether. First of all, the raceOf the winged ones and parti-coloured birds,Hatched out in spring-time, left their eggs behind;As now-a-days in summer tree-cricketsDo leave their shiny husks of own accord,Seeking their food and living. Then it wasThis earth of thine first gave unto the dayThe mortal generations; for prevailedAmong the fields abounding hot and wet.And hence, where any fitting spot was given,There 'gan to grow womb-cavities, by rootsAffixed to earth. And when in ripened timeThe age of the young within (that sought the airAnd fled earth's damps) had burst these wombs, O thenWould Nature thither turn the pores of earthAnd make her spurt from open veins a juiceLike unto milk; even as a woman nowIs filled, at child-bearing, with the sweet milk,Because all that swift stream of alimentIs thither turned unto the mother-breasts.There earth would furnish to the children food;Warmth was their swaddling cloth, the grass their bedAbounding in soft down. Earth's newness thenWould rouse no dour spells of the bitter cold,Nor extreme heats nor winds of mighty powers--For all things grow and gather strength through timeIn like proportions; and then earth was young.
Wherefore, again, again, how meritedIs that adopted name of Earth--The Mother!--Since she herself begat the human race,And at one well-nigh fixed time brought forthEach breast that ranges raving round aboutUpon the mighty mountains and all birdsAerial with many a varied shape.But, lo, because her bearing years must end,She ceased, like to a woman worn by eld.For lapsing aeons change the nature ofThe whole wide world, and all things needs must takeOne status after other, nor aught persistsForever like itself. All things depart;Nature she changeth all, compelleth allTo transformation. Lo, this moulders down,A-slack with weary eld, and that, again,Prospers in glory, issuing from contempt.In suchwise, then, the lapsing aeons changeThe nature of the whole wide world, and earthTaketh one status after other. And whatShe bore of old, she now can bear no longer,And what she never bore, she can to-day.
In those days also the telluric worldStrove to beget the monsters that upsprungWith their astounding visages and limbs--The Man-woman--a thing betwixt the twain,Yet neither, and from either sex remote--Some gruesome Boggles orphaned of the feet,Some widowed of the hands, dumb Horrors tooWithout a mouth, or blind Ones of no eye,Or Bulks all shackled by their legs and armsCleaving unto the body fore and aft,Thuswise, that never could they do or go,Nor shun disaster, nor take the good they would.And other prodigies and monsters earthWas then begetting of this sort--in vain,Since Nature banned with horror their increase,And powerless were they to reach untoThe coveted flower of fair maturity,Or to find aliment, or to intertwineIn works of Venus. For we see there mustConcur in life conditions manifold,If life is ever by begetting lifeTo forge the generations one by one:First, foods must be; and, next, a path wherebyThe seeds of impregnation in the frameMay ooze, released from the members all;Last, the possession of those instrumentsWhereby the male with female can unite,The one with other in mutual ravishments.
And in the ages after monsters died,Perforce there perished many a stock, unableBy propagation to forge a progeny.For whatsoever creatures thou beholdestBreathing the breath of life, the same have beenEven from their earliest age preserved aliveBy cunning, or by valour, or at leastBy speed of foot or wing. And many a stockRemaineth yet, because of use to man,And so committed to man's guardianship.Valour hath saved alive fierce lion-breedsAnd many another terrorizing race,Cunning the foxes, flight the antlered stags.Light-sleeping dogs with faithful heart in breast,However, and every kind begot from seedOf beasts of draft, as, too, the woolly flocksAnd horned cattle, all, my Memmius,Have been committed to guardianship of men.For anxiously they fled the savage beasts,And peace they sought and their abundant foods,Obtained with never labours of their own,Which we secure to them as fit rewardsFor their good service. But those beasts to whomNature has granted naught of these same things--Beasts quite unfit by own free will to thriveAnd vain for any service unto usIn thanks for which we should permit their kindTo feed and be in our protection safe--Those, of a truth, were wont to be exposed,Enshackled in the gruesome bonds of doom,As prey and booty for the rest, untilNature reduced that stock to utter death.
But Centaurs ne'er have been, nor can there beCreatures of twofold stock and double frame,Compact of members alien in kind,Yet formed with equal function, equal forceIn every bodily part--a fact thou mayst,However dull thy wits, well learn from this:The horse, when his three years have rolled away,Flowers in his prime of vigour; but the boyNot so, for oft even then he gropes in sleepAfter the milky nipples of the breasts,An infant still. And later, when at lastThe lusty powers of horses and stout limbs,Now weak through lapsing life, do fail with age,Lo, only then doth youth with flowering yearsBegin for boys, and clothe their ruddy cheeksWith the soft down. So never deem, percase,That from a man and from the seed of horse,The beast of draft, can Centaurs be composedOr e'er exist alive, nor Scyllas be--The half-fish bodies girdled with mad dogs--Nor others of this sort, in whom we markMembers discordant each with each; for ne'erAt one same time they reach their flower of ageOr gain and lose full vigour of their frame,And never burn with one same lust of love,And never in their habits they agree,Nor find the same foods equally delightsome--Sooth, as one oft may see the bearded goatsBatten upon the hemlock which to manIs violent poison. Once again, since flameIs wont to scorch and burn the tawny bulksOf the great lions as much as other kindsOf flesh and blood existing in the lands,How could it be that she, Chimaera lone,With triple body--fore, a lion she;And aft, a dragon; and betwixt, a goat--Might at the mouth from out the body belchInfuriate flame? Wherefore, the man who feignsSuch beings could have been engenderedWhen earth was new and the young sky was fresh(Basing his empty argument on new)May babble with like reason many whimsInto our ears: he'll say, perhaps, that thenRivers of gold through every landscape flowed,That trees were wont with precious stones to flower,Or that in those far aeons man was bornWith such gigantic length and lift of limbsAs to be able, based upon his feet,Deep oceans to bestride or with his handsTo whirl the firmament around his head.For though in earth were many seeds of thingsIn the old time when this telluric worldFirst poured the breeds of animals abroad,Still that is nothing of a sign that thenSuch hybrid creatures could have been begotAnd limbs of all beasts heterogeneousHave been together knit; because, indeed,The divers kinds of grasses and the grainsAnd the delightsome trees--which even nowSpring up abounding from within the earth--Can still ne'er be begotten with their stemsBegrafted into one; but each sole thingProceeds according to its proper wontAnd all conserve their own distinctions basedIn nature's fixed decree.
ORIGINS AND SAVAGE PERIOD OF MANKIND
But mortal manWas then far hardier in the old champaign,As well he should be, since a hardier earthHad him begotten; builded too was heOf bigger and more solid bones within,And knit with stalwart sinews through the flesh,Nor easily seized by either heat or cold,Or alien food or any ail or irk.And whilst so many lustrums of the sunRolled on across the sky, men led a lifeAfter the roving habit of wild beasts.Not then were sturdy guiders of curved ploughs,And none knew then to work the fields with iron,Or plant young shoots in holes of delved loam,Or lop with hooked knives from off high treesThe boughs of yester-year. What sun and rainsTo them had given, what earth of own accordCreated then, was boon enough to gladTheir simple hearts. Mid acorn-laden oaksWould they refresh their bodies for the nonce;And the wild berries of the arbute-tree,Which now thou seest to ripen purple-redIn winter time, the old telluric soilWould bear then more abundant and more big.And many coarse foods, too, in long agoThe blooming freshness of the rank young worldProduced, enough for those poor wretches there.And rivers and springs would summon them of oldTo slake the thirst, as now from the great hillsThe water's down-rush calls aloud and farThe thirsty generations of the wild.So, too, they sought the grottos of the Nymphs--The woodland haunts discovered as they ranged--From forth of which they knew that gliding rillsWith gush and splash abounding laved the rocks,The dripping rocks, and trickled from aboveOver the verdant moss; and here and thereWelled up and burst across the open flats.As yet they knew not to enkindle fireAgainst the cold, nor hairy pelts to useAnd clothe their bodies with the spoils of beasts;But huddled in groves, and mountain-caves, and woods,And 'mongst the thickets hid their squalid backs,When driven to flee the lashings of the windsAnd the big rains. Nor could they then regardThe general good, nor did they know to useIn common any customs, any laws:Whatever of booty fortune unto eachHad proffered, each alone would bear away,By instinct trained for self to thrive and live.And Venus in the forests then would linkThe lovers' bodies; for the woman yieldedEither from mutual flame, or from the man'sImpetuous fury and insatiate lust,Or from a bribe--as acorn-nuts, choice pears,Or the wild berries of the arbute-tree.And trusting wondrous strength of hands and legs,They'd chase the forest-wanderers, the beasts;And many they'd conquer, but some few they fled,A-skulk into their hiding-places...
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With the flung stones and with the ponderous heftOf gnarled branch. And by the time of nightO'ertaken, they would throw, like bristly boars,Their wildman's limbs naked upon the earth,Rolling themselves in leaves and fronded boughs.Nor would they call with lamentations loudAround the fields for daylight and the sun,Quaking and wand'ring in shadows of the night;But, silent and buried in a sleep, they'd waitUntil the sun with rosy flambeau broughtThe glory to the sky. From childhood wontEver to see the dark and day begotIn times alternate, never might they beWildered by wild misgiving, lest a nightEternal should possess the lands, with lightOf sun withdrawn forever. But their careWas rather that the clans of savage beastsWould often make their sleep-time horribleFor those poor wretches; and, from home y-driven,They'd flee their rocky shelters at approachOf boar, the spumy-lipped, or lion strong,And in the midnight yield with terror upTo those fierce guests their beds of out-spread leaves.
And yet in those days not much more than nowWould generations of mortalityLeave the sweet light of fading life behind.Indeed, in those days here and there a man,More oftener snatched upon, and gulped by fangs,Afforded the beasts a food that roared alive,Echoing through groves and hills and forest-trees,Even as he viewed his living flesh entombedWithin a living grave; whilst those whom flightHad saved, with bone and body bitten, shrieked,Pressing their quivering palms to loathsome sores,With horrible voices for eternal death--Until, forlorn of help, and witless whatMight medicine their wounds, the writhing pangsTook them from life. But not in those far timesWould one lone day give over unto doomA soldiery in thousands marching onBeneath the battle-banners, nor would thenThe ramping breakers of the main seas dashWhole argosies and crews upon the rocks.But ocean uprisen would often rave in vain,Without all end or outcome, and give upIts empty menacings as lightly too;Nor soft seductions of a serene seaCould lure by laughing billows any manOut to disaster: for the science boldOf ship-sailing lay dark in those far times.Again, 'twas then that lack of food gave o'erMen's fainting limbs to dissolution: now'Tis plenty overwhelms. Unwary, theyOft for themselves themselves would then outpourThe poison; now, with nicer art, themselvesThey give the drafts to others.
BEGINNINGS OF CIVILIZATION
Afterwards,When huts they had procured and pelts and fire,And when the woman, joined unto the man,Withdrew with him into one dwelling place,
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Were known; and when they saw an offspring bornFrom out themselves, then first the human raceBegan to soften. For 'twas now that fireRendered their shivering frames less staunch to bear,Under the canopy of the sky, the cold;And Love reduced their shaggy hardiness;And children, with the prattle and the kiss,Soon broke the parents' haughty temper down.Then, too, did neighbours 'gin to league as friends,Eager to wrong no more or suffer wrong,And urged for children and the womankindMercy, of fathers, whilst with cries and gesturesThey stammered hints how meet it was that allShould have compassion on the weak. And still,Though concord not in every wise could thenBegotten be, a good, a goodly partKept faith inviolate--or else mankindLong since had been unutterably cut off,And propagation never could have broughtThe species down the ages.
Lest, perchance,Concerning these affairs thou ponderestIn silent meditation, let me say'Twas lightning brought primevally to earthThe fire for mortals, and from thence hath spreadO'er all the lands the flames of heat. For thusEven now we see so many objects, touchedBy the celestial flames, to flash aglow,When thunderbolt has dowered them with heat.Yet also when a many-branched tree,Beaten by winds, writhes swaying to and fro,Pressing 'gainst branches of a neighbour tree,There by the power of mighty rub and rubIs fire engendered; and at times out-flaresThe scorching heat of flame, when boughs do chafeAgainst the trunks. And of these causes, eitherMay well have given to mortal men the fire.Next, food to cook and soften in the flameThe sun instructed, since so oft they sawHow objects mellowed, when subdued by warmthAnd by the raining blows of fiery beams,Through all the fields.
And more and more each dayWould men more strong in sense, more wise in heart,Teach them to change their earlier mode and lifeBy fire and new devices. Kings beganCities to found and citadels to set,As strongholds and asylums for themselves,And flocks and fields to portion for each manAfter the beauty, strength, and sense of each--For beauty then imported much, and strengthHad its own rights supreme. Thereafter, wealthDiscovered was, and gold was brought to light,Which soon of honour stripped both strong and fair;For men, however beautiful in formOr valorous, will follow in the mainThe rich man's party. Yet were man to steerHis life by sounder reasoning, he'd ownAbounding riches, if with mind contentHe lived by thrift; for never, as I guess,Is there a lack of little in the world.But men wished glory for themselves and powerEven that their fortunes on foundations firmMight rest forever, and that they themselves,The opulent, might pass a quiet life--In vain, in vain; since, in the strife to climbOn to the heights of honour, men do makeTheir pathway terrible; and even when onceThey reach them, envy like the thunderboltAt times will smite, O hurling headlong downTo murkiest Tartarus, in scorn; for, lo,All summits, all regions loftier than the rest,Smoke, blasted as by envy's thunderbolts;So better far in quiet to obey,Than to desire chief mastery of affairsAnd ownership of empires. Be it so;And let the weary sweat their life-blood outAll to no end, battling in hate alongThe narrow path of man's ambition;Since all their wisdom is from others' lips,And all they seek is known from what they've heardAnd less from what they've thought. Nor is this follyGreater to-day, nor greater soon to be,Than' twas of old.
And therefore kings were slain,And pristine majesty of golden thronesAnd haughty sceptres lay o'erturned in dust;And crowns, so splendid on the sovereign heads,Soon bloody under the proletarian feet,Groaned for their glories gone--for erst o'er-muchDreaded, thereafter with more greedy zestTrampled beneath the rabble heel. Thus thingsDown to the vilest lees of brawling mobsSuccumbed, whilst each man sought unto himselfDominion and supremacy. So nextSome wiser heads instructed men to foundThe magisterial office, and did frameCodes that they might consent to follow laws.For humankind, o'er wearied with a lifeFostered by force, was ailing from its feuds;And so the sooner of its own free willYielded to laws and strictest codes. For sinceEach hand made ready in its wrath to takeA vengeance fiercer than by man's fair lawsIs now conceded, men on this accountLoathed the old life fostered by force. 'Tis thenceThat fear of punishments defiles each prizeOf wicked days; for force and fraud ensnareEach man around, and in the main recoilOn him from whence they sprung. Not easy 'tisFor one who violates by ugly deedsThe bonds of common peace to pass a lifeComposed and tranquil. For albeit he 'scapeThe race of gods and men, he yet must dread'Twill not be hid forever--since, indeed,So many, oft babbling on amid their dreamsOr raving in sickness, have betrayed themselves(As stories tell) and published at lastOld secrets and the sins.
But nature 'twasUrged men to utter various sounds of tongueAnd need and use did mould the names of things,About in same wise as the lack-speech yearsCompel young children unto gesturings,Making them point with finger here and thereAt what's before them. For each creature feelsBy instinct to what use to put his powers.Ere yet the bull-calf's scarce begotten hornsProject above his brows, with them he 'ginsEnraged to butt and savagely to thrust.But whelps of panthers and the lion's cubsWith claws and paws and bites are at the frayAlready, when their teeth and claws be scarceAs yet engendered. So again, we seeAll breeds of winged creatures trust to wingsAnd from their fledgling pinions seek to getA fluttering assistance. Thus, to thinkThat in those days some man apportioned roundTo things their names, and that from him men learnedTheir first nomenclature, is foolery.For why could he mark everything by wordsAnd utter the various sounds of tongue, what timeThe rest may be supposed powerlessTo do the same? And, if the rest had notAlready one with other used words,Whence was implanted in the teacher, then,Fore-knowledge of their use, and whence was givenTo him alone primordial facultyTo know and see in mind what 'twas he willed?Besides, one only man could scarce subdueAn overmastered multitude to chooseTo get by heart his names of things. A taskNot easy 'tis in any wise to teachAnd to persuade the deaf concerning what'Tis needful for to do. For ne'er would theyAllow, nor ne'er in anywise endurePerpetual vain dingdong in their earsOf spoken sounds unheard before. And what,At last, in this affair so wondrous is,That human race (in whom a voice and tongueWere now in vigour) should by divers wordsDenote its objects, as each divers senseMight prompt?--since even the speechless herds, aye, sinceThe very generations of wild beastsAre wont dissimilar and divers soundsTo rouse from in them, when there's fear or pain,And when they burst with joys. And this, forsooth,'Tis thine to know from plainest facts: when firstHuge flabby jowls of mad Molossian hounds,Baring their hard white teeth, begin to snarl,They threaten, with infuriate lips peeled back,In sounds far other than with which they barkAnd fill with voices all the regions round.And when with fondling tongue they start to lickTheir puppies, or do toss them round with paws,Feigning with gentle bites to gape and snap,They fawn with yelps of voice far other thenThan when, alone within the house, they bay,Or whimpering slink with cringing sides from blows.Again the neighing of the horse, is thatNot seen to differ likewise, when the studIn buoyant flower of his young years raves,Goaded by winged Love, amongst the mares,And when with widening nostrils out he snortsThe call to battle, and when haply heWhinnies at times with terror-quaking limbs?Lastly, the flying race, the dappled birds,Hawks, ospreys, sea-gulls, searching food and lifeAmid the ocean billows in the brine,Utter at other times far other criesThan when they fight for food, or with their preyStruggle and strain. And birds there are which changeWith changing weather their own raucous songs--As long-lived generations of the crowsOr flocks of rooks, when they be said to cryFor rain and water and to call at timesFor winds and gales. Ergo, if divers moodsCompel the brutes, though speechless evermore,To send forth divers sounds, O truly thenHow much more likely 'twere that mortal menIn those days could with many a different soundDenote each separate thing.
And now what causeHath spread divinities of gods abroadThrough mighty nations, and filled the cities fullOf the high altars, and led to practicesOf solemn rites in season--rites which stillFlourish in midst of great affairs of stateAnd midst great centres of man's civic life,The rites whence still a poor mortalityIs grafted that quaking awe which rears aloftStill the new temples of gods from land to landAnd drives mankind to visit them in throngsOn holy days--'tis not so hard to giveReason thereof in speech. Because, in sooth,Even in those days would the race of manBe seeing excelling visages of godsWith mind awake; and in his sleeps, yet more--Bodies of wondrous growth. And, thus, to theseWould men attribute sense, because they seemedTo move their limbs and speak pronouncements high,Befitting glorious visage and vast powers.And men would give them an eternal life,Because their visages forevermoreWere there before them, and their shapes remained,And chiefly, however, because men would not thinkBeings augmented with such mighty powersCould well by any force o'ermastered be.And men would think them in their happinessExcelling far, because the fear of deathVexed no one of them at all, and sinceAt same time in men's sleeps men saw them doSo many wonders, and yet feel therefromThemselves no weariness. Besides, men markedHow in a fixed order rolled aroundThe systems of the sky, and changed timesOf annual seasons, nor were able thenTo know thereof the causes. Therefore 'twasMen would take refuge in consigning allUnto divinities, and in feigning allWas guided by their nod. And in the skyThey set the seats and vaults of gods, becauseAcross the sky night and the moon are seenTo roll along--moon, day, and night, and night'sOld awesome constellations evermore,And the night-wandering fireballs of the sky,And flying flames, clouds, and the sun, the rains,Snow and the winds, the lightnings, and the hail,And the swift rumblings, and the hollow roarOf mighty menacings forevermore.
O humankind unhappy!--when it ascribedUnto divinities such awesome deeds,And coupled thereto rigours of fierce wrath!What groans did men on that sad day begetEven for themselves, and O what wounds for us,What tears for our children's children! Nor, O man,Is thy true piety in this: with headUnder the veil, still to be seen to turnFronting a stone, and ever to approachUnto all altars; nor so prone on earthForward to fall, to spread upturned palmsBefore the shrines of gods, nor yet to dewAltars with profuse blood of four-foot beasts,Nor vows with vows to link. But rather this:To look on all things with a master eyeAnd mind at peace. For when we gaze aloftUpon the skiey vaults of yon great worldAnd ether, fixed high o'er twinkling stars,And into our thought there come the journeyingsOf sun and moon, O then into our breasts,O'erburdened already with their other ills,Begins forthwith to rear its sudden headOne more misgiving: lest o'er us, percase,It be the gods' immeasurable powerThat rolls, with varied motion, round and roundThe far white constellations. For the lackOf aught of reasons tries the puzzled mind:Whether was ever a birth-time of the world,And whether, likewise, any end shall beHow far the ramparts of the world can stillOutstand this strain of ever-roused motion,Or whether, divinely with eternal wealEndowed, they can through endless tracts of ageGlide on, defying the o'er-mighty powersOf the immeasurable ages. Lo,What man is there whose mind with dread of godsCringes not close, whose limbs with terror-spellCrouch not together, when the parched earthQuakes with the horrible thunderbolt amain,And across the mighty sky the rumblings run?Do not the peoples and the nations shake,And haughty kings do they not hug their limbs,Strook through with fear of the divinities,Lest for aught foully done or madly saidThe heavy time be now at hand to pay?When, too, fierce force of fury-winds at seaSweepeth a navy's admiral down the mainWith his stout legions and his elephants,Doth he not seek the peace of gods with vows,And beg in prayer, a-tremble, lulled windsAnd friendly gales?--in vain, since, often up-caughtIn fury-cyclones, is he borne along,For all his mouthings, to the shoals of doom.Ah, so irrevocably some hidden powerBetramples forevermore affairs of men,And visibly grindeth with its heel in mireThe lictors' glorious rods and axes dire,Having them in derision! Again, when earthFrom end to end is rocking under foot,And shaken cities ruin down, or threatenUpon the verge, what wonder is it thenThat mortal generations abase themselves,And unto gods in all affairs of earthAssign as last resort almighty powersAnd wondrous energies to govern all?
Now for the rest: copper and gold and ironDiscovered were, and with them silver's weightAnd power of lead, when with prodigious heatThe conflagrations burned the forest treesAmong the mighty mountains, by a boltOf lightning from the sky, or else becauseMen, warring in the woodlands, on their foesHad hurled fire to frighten and dismay,Or yet because, by goodness of the soilInvited, men desired to clear rich fieldsAnd turn the countryside to pasture-lands,Or slay the wild and thrive upon the spoils.(For hunting by pit-fall and by fire aroseBefore the art of hedging the covert roundWith net or stirring it with dogs of chase.)Howso the fact, and from what cause soeverThe flamy heat with awful crack and roarHad there devoured to their deepest rootsThe forest trees and baked the earth with fire,Then from the boiling veins began to oozeO rivulets of silver and of gold,Of lead and copper too, collecting soonInto the hollow places of the ground.And when men saw the cooled lumps anonTo shine with splendour-sheen upon the ground,Much taken with that lustrous smooth delight,They 'gan to pry them out, and saw how eachHad got a shape like to its earthy mould.Then would it enter their heads how these same lumps,If melted by heat, could into any formOr figure of things be run, and how, again,If hammered out, they could be nicely drawnTo sharpest points or finest edge, and thusYield to the forgers tools and give them powerTo chop the forest down, to hew the logs,To shave the beams and planks, besides to boreAnd punch and drill. And men began such workAt first as much with tools of silver and goldAs with the impetuous strength of the stout copper;But vainly--since their over-mastered powerWould soon give way, unable to endure,Like copper, such hard labour. In those daysCopper it was that was the thing of price;And gold lay useless, blunted with dull edge.Now lies the copper low, and gold hath comeUnto the loftiest honours. Thus it isThat rolling ages change the times of things:What erst was of a price, becomes at lastA discard of no honour; whilst anotherSucceeds to glory, issuing from contempt,And day by day is sought for more and more,And, when 'tis found, doth flower in men's praise,Objects of wondrous honour.
Now, Memmius,How nature of iron discovered was, thou maystOf thine own self divine. Man's ancient armsWere hands, and nails and teeth, stones too and boughs--Breakage of forest trees--and flame and fire,As soon as known. Thereafter force of ironAnd copper discovered was; and copper's useWas known ere iron's, since more tractableIts nature is and its abundance more.With copper men to work the soil began,With copper to rouse the hurly waves of war,To straw the monstrous wounds, and seize awayAnother's flocks and fields. For unto them,Thus armed, all things naked of defenceReadily yielded. Then by slow degreesThe sword of iron succeeded, and the shapeOf brazen sickle into scorn was turned:With iron to cleave the soil of earth they 'gan,And the contentions of uncertain warWere rendered equal.
And, lo, man was wontArmed to mount upon the ribs of horseAnd guide him with the rein, and play aboutWith right hand free, oft times before he triedPerils of war in yoked chariot;And yoked pairs abreast came earlierThan yokes of four, or scythed chariotsWhereinto clomb the men-at-arms. And nextThe Punic folk did train the elephants--Those curst Lucanian oxen, hideous,The serpent-handed, with turrets on their bulks--To dure the wounds of war and panic-strikeThe mighty troops of Mars. Thus Discord sadBegat the one Thing after other, to beThe terror of the nations under arms,And day by day to horrors of old warShe added an increase.
Bulls, too, they triedIn war's grim business; and essayed to sendOutrageous boars against the foes. And someSent on before their ranks puissant lionsWith armed trainers and with masters fierceTo guide and hold in chains--and yet in vain,Since fleshed with pell-mell slaughter, fierce they flew,And blindly through the squadrons havoc wrought,Shaking the frightful crests upon their heads,Now here, now there. Nor could the horsemen calmTheir horses, panic-breasted at the roar,And rein them round to front the foe. With springThe infuriate she-lions would up-leapNow here, now there; and whoso came apaceAgainst them, these they'd rend across the face;And others unwitting from behind they'd tearDown from their mounts, and twining round them, bringTumbling to earth, o'ermastered by the wound,And with those powerful fangs and hooked clawsFasten upon them. Bulls would toss their friends,And trample under foot, and from beneathRip flanks and bellies of horses with their horns,And with a threat'ning forehead jam the sod;And boars would gore with stout tusks their allies,Splashing in fury their own blood on spearsSplintered in their own bodies, and would fellIn rout and ruin infantry and horse.For there the beasts-of-saddle tried to scapeThe savage thrusts of tusk by shying off,Or rearing up with hoofs a-paw in air.In vain--since there thou mightest see them sink,Their sinews severed, and with heavy fallBestrew the ground. And such of these as menSupposed well-trained long ago at home,Were in the thick of action seen to foamIn fury, from the wounds, the shrieks, the flight,The panic, and the tumult; nor could menAught of their numbers rally. For each breedAnd various of the wild beasts fled apartHither or thither, as often in wars to-dayFlee those Lucanian oxen, by the steelGrievously mangled, after they have wroughtUpon their friends so many a dreadful doom.(If 'twas, indeed, that thus they did at all:But scarcely I'll believe that men could notWith mind foreknow and see, as sure to come,Such foul and general disaster.--ThisWe, then, may hold as true in the great All,In divers worlds on divers plan create,--Somewhere afar more likely than uponOne certain earth.) But men chose this to doLess in the hope of conquering than to giveTheir enemies a goodly cause of woe,Even though thereby they perished themselves,Since weak in numbers and since wanting arms.
Now, clothes of roughly inter-plaited strandsWere earlier than loom-wove coverings;The loom-wove later than man's iron is,Since iron is needful in the weaving art,Nor by no other means can there be wroughtSuch polished tools--the treadles, spindles, shuttles,And sounding yarn-beams. And nature forced the men,Before the woman kind, to work the wool:For all the male kind far excels in skill,And cleverer is by much--until at lastThe rugged farmer folk jeered at such tasks,And so were eager soon to give them o'erTo women's hands, and in more hardy toilTo harden arms and hands.
But nature herself,Mother of things, was the first seed-sowerAnd primal grafter; since the berries and acorns,Dropping from off the trees, would there beneathPut forth in season swarms of little shoots;Hence too men's fondness for ingrafting slipsUpon the boughs and setting out in holesThe young shrubs o'er the fields. Then would they tryEver new modes of tilling their loved crofts,And mark they would how earth improved the tasteOf the wild fruits by fond and fostering care.And day by day they'd force the woods to moveStill higher up the mountain, and to yieldThe place below for tilth, that there they might,On plains and uplands, have their meadow-plats,Cisterns and runnels, crops of standing grain,And happy vineyards, and that all alongO'er hillocks, intervales, and plains might runThe silvery-green belt of olive-trees,Marking the plotted landscape; even as nowThou seest so marked with varied lovelinessAll the terrain which men adorn and plantWith rows of goodly fruit-trees and hedge roundWith thriving shrubberies sown.
But by the mouthTo imitate the liquid notes of birdsWas earlier far 'mongst men than power to make,By measured song, melodious verse and giveDelight to ears. And whistlings of the windAthrough the hollows of the reeds first taughtThe peasantry to blow into the stalksOf hollow hemlock-herb. Then bit by bitThey learned sweet plainings, such as pipe out-pours,Beaten by finger-tips of singing men,When heard through unpathed groves and forest deepsAnd woodsy meadows, through the untrod hauntsOf shepherd folk and spots divinely still.Thus time draws forward each and everythingLittle by little unto the midst of men,And reason uplifts it to the shores of light.These tunes would soothe and glad the minds of mortalsWhen sated with food,--for songs are welcome then.And often, lounging with friends in the soft grassBeside a river of water, underneathA big tree's branches, merrily they'd refreshTheir frames, with no vast outlay--most of allIf the weather were smiling and the times of the yearWere painting the green of the grass around with flowers.Then jokes, then talk, then peals of jollityWould circle round; for then the rustic museWas in her glory; then would antic MirthPrompt them to garland head and shoulders aboutWith chaplets of intertwined flowers and leaves,And to dance onward, out of tune, with limbsClownishly swaying, and with clownish footTo beat our mother earth--from whence aroseLaughter and peals of jollity, for, lo,Such frolic acts were in their glory then,Being more new and strange. And wakeful menFound solaces for their unsleeping hoursIn drawing forth variety of notes,In modulating melodies, in runningWith puckered lips along the tuned reeds,Whence, even in our day do the watchmen guardThese old traditions, and have learned wellTo keep true measure. And yet they no whitDo get a larger fruit of gladsomenessThan got the woodland aboriginesIn olden times. For what we have at hand--If theretofore naught sweeter we have known--That chiefly pleases and seems best of all;But then some later, likely better, findDestroys its worth and changes our desiresRegarding good of yesterday.
And thusBegan the loathing of the acorn; thusAbandoned were those beds with grasses strewnAnd with the leaves beladen. Thus, again,Fell into new contempt the pelts of beasts--Erstwhile a robe of honour, which, I guess,Aroused in those days envy so malignThat the first wearer went to woeful deathBy ambuscades,--and yet that hairy prize,Rent into rags by greedy foemen thereAnd splashed by blood, was ruined utterlyBeyond all use or vantage. Thus of old'Twas pelts, and of to-day 'tis purple and goldThat cark men's lives with cares and weary with war.Wherefore, methinks, resides the greater blameWith us vain men to-day: for cold would rack,Without their pelts, the naked sons of earth;But us it nothing hurts to do withoutThe purple vestment, broidered with goldAnd with imposing figures, if we stillMake shift with some mean garment of the Plebs.So man in vain futilities toils onForever and wastes in idle cares his years--Because, of very truth, he hath not learntWhat the true end of getting is, nor yetAt all how far true pleasure may increase.And 'tis desire for better and for moreHath carried by degrees mortalityOut onward to the deep, and roused upFrom the far bottom mighty waves of war.
But sun and moon, those watchmen of the world,With their own lanterns traversing aroundThe mighty, the revolving vault, have taughtUnto mankind that seasons of the yearsReturn again, and that the Thing takes placeAfter a fixed plan and order fixed.
Already would they pass their life, hedged roundBy the strong towers; and cultivate an earthAll portioned out and boundaried; alreadyWould the sea flower and sail-winged ships;Already men had, under treaty pacts,Confederates and allies, when poets beganTo hand heroic actions down in verse;Nor long ere this had letters been devised--Hence is our age unable to look backOn what has gone before, except where reasonShows us a footprint.
Sailings on the seas,Tillings of fields, walls, laws, and arms, and roads,Dress and the like, all prizes, all delightsOf finer life, poems, pictures, chiselled shapesOf polished sculptures--all these arts were learnedBy practice and the mind's experience,As men walked forward step by eager step.Thus time draws forward each and everythingLittle by little into the midst of men,And reason uplifts it to the shores of light.For one thing after other did men seeGrow clear by intellect, till with their artsThey've now achieved the supreme pinnacle.