'Twas Athens first, the glorious in name,That whilom gave to hapless sons of menThe sheaves of harvest, and re-ordered life,And decreed laws; and she the first that gaveLife its sweet solaces, when she begatA man of heart so wise, who whilom pouredAll wisdom forth from his truth-speaking mouth;The glory of whom, though dead, is yet to-day,Because of those discoveries divineRenowned of old, exalted to the sky.For when saw he that well-nigh everythingWhich needs of man most urgently requireWas ready to hand for mortals, and that life,As far as might be, was established safe,That men were lords in riches, honour, praise,And eminent in goodly fame of sons,And that they yet, O yet, within the home,Still had the anxious heart which vexed lifeUnpausingly with torments of the mind,And raved perforce with angry plaints, then he,Then he, the master, did perceive that 'twasThe vessel itself which worked the bane, and all,However wholesome, which from here or thereWas gathered into it, was by that baneSpoilt from within,--in part, because he sawThe vessel so cracked and leaky that nowise'T could ever be filled to brim; in part becauseHe marked how it polluted with foul tasteWhate'er it got within itself. So he,The master, then by his truth-speaking words,Purged the breasts of men, and set the boundsOf lust and terror, and exhibitedThe supreme good whither we all endeavour,And showed the path whereby we might arriveThereunto by a little cross-cut straight,And what of ills in all affairs of mortalsUpsprang and flitted deviously about(Whether by chance or force), since nature thusHad destined; and from out what gates a manShould sally to each combat. And he provedThat mostly vainly doth the human raceRoll in its bosom the grim waves of care.For just as children tremble and fear allIn the viewless dark, so even we at timesDread in the light so many things that beNo whit more fearsome than what children feign,Shuddering, will be upon them in the dark.This terror then, this darkness of the mind,Not sunrise with its flaring spokes of light,Nor glittering arrows of morning can disperse,But only nature's aspect and her law.Wherefore the more will I go on to weaveIn verses this my undertaken task.
And since I've taught thee that the world's great vaultsAre mortal and that sky is fashionedOf frame e'en born in time, and whatsoe'erTherein go on and must perforce go on
*****
The most I have unravelled; what remainsDo thou take in, besides; since once for allTo climb into that chariot' renowned
*****
Of winds arise; and they appeased areSo that all things again...
*****
Which were, are changed now, with fury stilled;All other movements through the earth and skyWhich mortals gaze upon (O anxious oftIn quaking thoughts!), and which abase their mindsWith dread of deities and press them crushedDown to the earth, because their ignoranceOf cosmic causes forces them to yieldAll things unto the empery of godsAnd to concede the kingly rule to them.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.Wherefore the more are they borne wandering onBy blindfold reason. And, Memmius, unlessFrom out thy mind thou spuest all of thisAnd casteth far from thee all thoughts which beUnworthy gods and alien to their peace,Then often will the holy majestiesOf the high gods be harmful unto thee,As by thy thought degraded,--not, indeed,That essence supreme of gods could be by thisSo outraged as in wrath to thirst to seekRevenges keen; but even because thyselfThou plaguest with the notion that the gods,Even they, the Calm Ones in serene repose,Do roll the mighty waves of wrath on wrath;Nor wilt thou enter with a serene breastShrines of the gods; nor wilt thou able beIn tranquil peace of mind to take and knowThose images which from their holy bodiesAre carried into intellects of men,As the announcers of their form divine.What sort of life will follow after this'Tis thine to see. But that afar from usVeriest reason may drive such life away,Much yet remains to be embellished yetIn polished verses, albeit hath issued forthSo much from me already; lo, there isThe law and aspect of the sky to beBy reason grasped; there are the tempest timesAnd the bright lightnings to be hymned now--Even what they do and from what cause soe'erThey're borne along--that thou mayst tremble not,Marking off regions of prophetic skiesFor auguries, O foolishly distraughtEven as to whence the flying flame hath come,Or to which half of heaven it turns, or howThrough walled places it hath wound its way,Or, after proving its dominion there,How it hath speeded forth from thence amain--Whereof nowise the causes do men know,And think divinities are working there.Do thou, Calliope, ingenious Muse,Solace of mortals and delight of gods,Point out the course before me, as I raceOn to the white line of the utmost goal,That I may get with signal praise the crown,With thee my guide!
GREAT METEOROLOGICAL PHENOMENA, ETC.
And so in first place, then,With thunder are shaken the blue deeps of heaven,Because the ethereal clouds, scudding aloft,Together clash, what time 'gainst one anotherThe winds are battling. For never a sound there comesFrom out the serene regions of the sky;But wheresoever in a host more denseThe clouds foregather, thence more often comesA crash with mighty rumbling. And, again,Clouds cannot be of so condensed a frameAs stones and timbers, nor again so fineAs mists and flying smoke; for then perforceThey'd either fall, borne down by their brute weight,Like stones, or, like the smoke, they'd powerless beTo keep their mass, or to retain withinFrore snows and storms of hail. And they give forthO'er skiey levels of the spreading worldA sound on high, as linen-awning, stretchedO'er mighty theatres, gives forth at timesA cracking roar, when much 'tis beaten aboutBetwixt the poles and cross-beams. Sometimes, too,Asunder rent by wanton gusts, it ravesAnd imitates the tearing sound of sheetsOf paper--even this kind of noise thou maystIn thunder hear--or sound as when winds whirlWith lashings and do buffet about in airA hanging cloth and flying paper-sheets.For sometimes, too, it chances that the cloudsCannot together crash head-on, but ratherMove side-wise and with motions contraryGraze each the other's body without speed,From whence that dry sound grateth on our ears,So long drawn-out, until the clouds have passedFrom out their close positions.
And, again,In following wise all things seem oft to quakeAt shock of heavy thunder, and mightiest wallsOf the wide reaches of the upper worldThere on the instant to have sprung apart,Riven asunder, what time a gathered blastOf the fierce hurricane hath all at onceTwisted its way into a mass of clouds,And, there enclosed, ever more and moreCompelleth by its spinning whirl the cloudTo grow all hollow with a thickened crustSurrounding; for thereafter, when the forceAnd the keen onset of the wind have weakenedThat crust, lo, then the cloud, to-split in twain,Gives forth a hideous crash with bang and boom.No marvel this; since oft a bladder small,Filled up with air, will, when of sudden burst,Give forth a like large sound.
There's reason, too,Why clouds make sounds, as through them blow the winds:We see, borne down the sky, oft shapes of cloudsRough-edged or branched many forky ways;And 'tis the same, as when the sudden flawsOf north-west wind through the dense forest blow,Making the leaves to sough and limbs to crash.It happens too at times that roused forceOf the fierce hurricane to-rends the cloud,Breaking right through it by a front assault;For what a blast of wind may do up thereIs manifest from facts when here on earthA blast more gentle yet uptwists tall treesAnd sucks them madly from their deepest roots.Besides, among the clouds are waves, and theseGive, as they roughly break, a rumbling roar;As when along deep streams or the great seaBreaks the loud surf. It happens, too, wheneverOut from one cloud into another fallsThe fiery energy of thunderbolt,That straightaway the cloud, if full of wet,Extinguishes the fire with mighty noise;As iron, white from the hot furnaces,Sizzles, when speedily we've plunged its glowDown the cold water. Further, if a cloudMore dry receive the fire, 'twill suddenlyKindle to flame and burn with monstrous sound,As if a flame with whirl of winds should rangeAlong the laurel-tressed mountains far,Upburning with its vast assault those trees;Nor is there aught that in the crackling flameConsumes with sound more terrible to manThan Delphic laurel of Apollo lord.Oft, too, the multitudinous crash of iceAnd down-pour of swift hail gives forth a soundAmong the mighty clouds on high; for whenThe wind hath packed them close, each mountain massOf rain-cloud, there congealed utterlyAnd mixed with hail-stones, breaks and booms...
*****
Likewise, it lightens, when the clouds have struck,By their collision, forth the seeds of fire:As if a stone should smite a stone or steel,For light then too leaps forth and fire then scattersThe shining sparks. But with our ears we getThe thunder after eyes behold the flash,Because forever things arrive the earsMore tardily than the eyes--as thou mayst seeFrom this example too: when markest thouSome man far yonder felling a great treeWith double-edged ax, it comes to passThine eye beholds the swinging stroke beforeThe blow gives forth a sound athrough thine ears:Thus also we behold the flashing ereWe hear the thunder, which discharged isAt same time with the fire and by same cause,Born of the same collision.
In following wiseThe clouds suffuse with leaping light the lands,And the storm flashes with tremulous elan:When the wind hath invaded a cloud, and, whirling there,Hath wrought (as I have shown above) the cloudInto a hollow with a thickened crust,It becomes hot of own velocity:Just as thou seest how motion will o'erheatAnd set ablaze all objects,--verilyA leaden ball, hurtling through length of space,Even melts. Therefore, when this same wind a-fireHath split black cloud, it scatters the fire-seeds,Which, so to say, have been pressed out by forceOf sudden from the cloud;--and these do makeThe pulsing flashes of flame; thence followethThe detonation which attacks our earsMore tardily than aught which comes alongUnto the sight of eyeballs. This takes place--As know thou mayst--at times when clouds are denseAnd one upon the other piled aloftWith wonderful upheavings--nor be thouDeceived because we see how broad their baseFrom underneath, and not how high they tower.For make thine observations at a timeWhen winds shall bear athwart the horizon's blueClouds like to mountain-ranges moving on,Or when about the sides of mighty peaksThou seest them one upon the other massedAnd burdening downward, anchored in high repose,With the winds sepulchred on all sides round:Then canst thou know their mighty masses, thenCanst view their caverns, as if builded thereOf beetling crags; which, when the hurricanesIn gathered storm have filled utterly,Then, prisoned in clouds, they rave aroundWith mighty roarings, and within those densBluster like savage beasts, and now from here,And now from there, send growlings through the clouds,And seeking an outlet, whirl themselves about,And roll from 'mid the clouds the seeds of fire,And heap them multitudinously there,And in the hollow furnaces withinWheel flame around, until from bursted cloudIn forky flashes they have gleamed forth.
Again, from following cause it comes to passThat yon swift golden hue of liquid fireDarts downward to the earth: because the cloudsThemselves must hold abundant seeds of fire;For, when they be without all moisture, thenThey be for most part of a flamy hueAnd a resplendent. And, indeed, they mustEven from the light of sun unto themselvesTake multitudinous seeds, and so perforceRedden and pour their bright fires all abroad.And therefore, when the wind hath driven and thrust,Hath forced and squeezed into one spot these clouds,They pour abroad the seeds of fire pressed out,Which make to flash these colours of the flame.Likewise, it lightens also when the cloudsGrow rare and thin along the sky; for, whenThe wind with gentle touch unravels themAnd breaketh asunder as they move, those seedsWhich make the lightnings must by nature fall;At such an hour the horizon lightens roundWithout the hideous terror of dread noiseAnd skiey uproar.
To proceed apace,What sort of nature thunderbolts possessIs by their strokes made manifest and byThe brand-marks of their searing heat on things,And by the scorched scars exhaling roundThe heavy fumes of sulphur. For all theseAre marks, O not of wind or rain, but fire.Again, they often enkindle even the roofsOf houses and inside the very roomsWith swift flame hold a fierce dominion.Know thou that nature fashioned this fireSubtler than fires all other, with minuteAnd dartling bodies,--a fire 'gainst which there's naughtCan in the least hold out: the thunderbolt,The mighty, passes through the hedging wallsOf houses, like to voices or a shout,--Through stones, through bronze it passes, and it meltsUpon the instant bronze and gold; and makes,Likewise, the wines sudden to vanish forth,The wine-jars intact,--because, ye see,Its heat arriving renders loose and porousReadily all the wine--jar's earthen sides,And winding its way within, it scatterethThe elements primordial of the wineWith speedy dissolution--process whichEven in an age the fiery steam of sunCould not accomplish, however puissant heWith his hot coruscations: so much moreAgile and overpowering is this force.
*****
Now in what manner engendered are these things,How fashioned of such impetuous strengthAs to cleave towers asunder, and houses allTo overtopple, and to wrench apartTimbers and beams, and heroes' monumentsTo pile in ruins and upheave amain,And to take breath forever out of men,And to o'erthrow the cattle everywhere,--Yes, by what force the lightnings do all this,All this and more, I will unfold to thee,Nor longer keep thee in mere promises.
The bolts of thunder, then, must be conceivedAs all begotten in those crasser cloudsUp-piled aloft; for, from the sky sereneAnd from the clouds of lighter density,None are sent forth forever. That 'tis soBeyond a doubt, fact plain to sense declares:To wit, at such a time the densed cloudsSo mass themselves through all the upper airThat we might think that round about all murkHad parted forth from Acheron and filledThe mighty vaults of sky--so grievously,As gathers thus the storm-clouds' gruesome might,Do faces of black horror hang on high--When tempest begins its thunderbolts to forge.Besides, full often also out at seaA blackest thunderhead, like cataractOf pitch hurled down from heaven, and far awayBulging with murkiness, down on the wavesFalls with vast uproar, and draws on amainThe darkling tempests big with thunderboltsAnd hurricanes, itself the while so crammedTremendously with fires and winds, that evenBack on the lands the people shudder roundAnd seek for cover. Therefore, as I said,The storm must be conceived as o'er our headTowering most high; for never would the cloudsO'erwhelm the lands with such a massy dark,Unless up-builded heap on lofty heap,To shut the round sun off. Nor could the clouds,As on they come, engulf with rain so vastAs thus to make the rivers overflowAnd fields to float, if ether were not thusFurnished with lofty-piled clouds. Lo, then,Here be all things fulfilled with winds and fires--Hence the long lightnings and the thunders loud.For, verily, I've taught thee even nowHow cavernous clouds hold seeds innumerableOf fiery exhalations, and they mustFrom off the sunbeams and the heat of theseTake many still. And so, when that same wind(Which, haply, into one region of the skyCollects those clouds) hath pressed from out the sameThe many fiery seeds, and with that fireHath at the same time inter-mixed itself,O then and there that wind, a whirlwind now,Deep in the belly of the cloud spins roundIn narrow confines, and sharpens there insideIn glowing furnaces the thunderbolt.For in a two-fold manner is that windEnkindled all: it trembles into heatBoth by its own velocity and byRepeated touch of fire. Thereafter, whenThe energy of wind is heated throughAnd the fierce impulse of the fire hath spedDeeply within, O then the thunderbolt,Now ripened, so to say, doth suddenlySplinter the cloud, and the aroused flashLeaps onward, lumining with forky lightAll places round. And followeth anonA clap so heavy that the skiey vaults,As if asunder burst, seem from on highTo engulf the earth. Then fearfully a quakePervades the lands, and 'long the lofty skiesRun the far rumblings. For at such a timeNigh the whole tempest quakes, shook through and through,And roused are the roarings,--from which shockComes such resounding and abounding rain,That all the murky ether seems to turnNow into rain, and, as it tumbles down,To summon the fields back to primeval floods:So big the rains that be sent down on menBy burst of cloud and by the hurricane,What time the thunder-clap, from burning boltThat cracks the cloud, flies forth along. At timesThe force of wind, excited from without,Smiteth into a cloud already hotWith a ripe thunderbolt. And when that windHath splintered that cloud, then down there cleaves forthwithYon fiery coil of flame which still we call,Even with our fathers' word, a thunderbolt.The same thing haps toward every other sideWhither that force hath swept. It happens, too,That sometimes force of wind, though hurtled forthWithout all fire, yet in its voyage through spaceIgniteth, whilst it comes along, along,--Losing some larger bodies which cannotPass, like the others, through the bulks of air,--And, scraping together out of air itselfSome smaller bodies, carries them along,And these, commingling, by their flight make fire:Much in the manner as oft a leaden ballGrows hot upon its aery course, the whileIt loseth many bodies of stark coldAnd taketh into itself along the airNew particles of fire. It happens, too,That force of blow itself arouses fire,When force of wind, a-cold and hurtled forthWithout all fire, hath strook somewhere amain--No marvel, because, when with terrific stroke'Thas smitten, the elements of fiery-stuffCan stream together from out the very windAnd, simultaneously, from out that thingWhich then and there receives the stroke: as fliesThe fire when with the steel we hack the stone;Nor yet, because the force of steel's a-cold,Rush the less speedily together thereUnder the stroke its seeds of radiance hot.And therefore, thuswise must an object tooBe kindled by a thunderbolt, if haply'Thas been adapt and suited to the flames.Yet force of wind must not be rashly deemedAs altogether and entirely cold--That force which is discharged from on highWith such stupendous power; but if 'tis notUpon its course already kindled with fire,It yet arriveth warmed and mixed with heat.
And, now, the speed and stroke of thunderboltIs so tremendous, and with glide so swiftThose thunderbolts rush on and down, becauseTheir roused force itself collects itselfFirst always in the clouds, and then preparesFor the huge effort of their going-forth;Next, when the cloud no longer can retainThe increment of their fierce impetus,Their force is pressed out, and therefore fliesWith impetus so wondrous, like to shotsHurled from the powerful Roman catapults.Note, too, this force consists of elementsBoth small and smooth, nor is there aught that canWith ease resist such nature. For it dartsBetween and enters through the pores of things;And so it never falters in delayDespite innumerable collisions, butFlies shooting onward with a swift elan.Next, since by nature always every weightBears downward, doubled is the swiftness thenAnd that elan is still more wild and dread,When, verily, to weight are added blows,So that more madly and more fiercely thenThe thunderbolt shakes into shivers allThat blocks its path, following on its way.Then, too, because it comes along, alongWith one continuing elan, it mustTake on velocity anew, anew,Which still increases as it goes, and everAugments the bolt's vast powers and to the blowGives larger vigour; for it forces all,All of the thunder's seeds of fire, to sweepIn a straight line unto one place, as 'twere,--Casting them one by other, as they roll,Into that onward course. Again, perchance,In coming along, it pulls from out the airSome certain bodies, which by their own blowsEnkindle its velocity. And, lo,It comes through objects leaving them unharmed,It goes through many things and leaves them whole,Because the liquid fire flieth alongAthrough their pores. And much it does transfix,When these primordial atoms of the boltHave fallen upon the atoms of these thingsPrecisely where the intertwined atomsAre held together. And, further, easilyBrass it unbinds and quickly fuseth gold,Because its force is so minutely madeOf tiny parts and elements so smoothThat easily they wind their way within,And, when once in, quickly unbind all knotsAnd loosen all the bonds of union there.
And most in autumn is shaken the house of heaven,The house so studded with the glittering stars,And the whole earth around--most too in springWhen flowery times unfold themselves: for, lo,In the cold season is there lack of fire,And winds are scanty in the hot, and cloudsHave not so dense a bulk. But when, indeed,The seasons of heaven are betwixt these twain,The divers causes of the thunderboltThen all concur; for then both cold and heatAre mixed in the cross-seas of the year,So that a discord rises among thingsAnd air in vast tumultuosityBillows, infuriate with the fires and winds--Of which the both are needed by the cloudFor fabrication of the thunderbolt.For the first part of heat and last of coldIs the time of spring; wherefore must things unlikeDo battle one with other, and, when mixed,Tumultuously rage. And when rolls roundThe latest heat mixed with the earliest chill--The time which bears the name of autumn--thenLikewise fierce cold-spells wrestle with fierce heats.On this account these seasons of the yearAre nominated "cross-seas."--And no marvelIf in those times the thunderbolts prevailAnd storms are roused turbulent in heaven,Since then both sides in dubious warfare rageTumultuously, the one with flames, the otherWith winds and with waters mixed with winds.
This, this it is, O Memmius, to see throughThe very nature of fire-fraught thunderbolt;O this it is to mark by what blind forceIt maketh each effect, and not, O notTo unwind Etrurian scrolls oracular,Inquiring tokens of occult will of gods,Even as to whence the flying flame hath come,Or to which half of heaven it turns, or howThrough walled places it hath wound its way,Or, after proving its dominion there,How it hath speeded forth from thence amain,Or what the thunderstroke portends of illFrom out high heaven. But if JupiterAnd other gods shake those refulgent vaultsWith dread reverberations and hurl fireWhither it pleases each, why smite they notMortals of reckless and revolting crimes,That such may pant from a transpierced breastForth flames of the red levin--unto menA drastic lesson?--why is rather he--O he self-conscious of no foul offence--Involved in flames, though innocent, and claspedUp-caught in skiey whirlwind and in fire?Nay, why, then, aim they at eternal wastes,And spend themselves in vain?--perchance, even soTo exercise their arms and strengthen shoulders?Why suffer they the Father's javelinTo be so blunted on the earth? And whyDoth he himself allow it, nor spare the sameEven for his enemies? O why most oftAims he at lofty places? Why behold weMarks of his lightnings most on mountain tops?Then for what reason shoots he at the sea?--What sacrilege have waves and bulk of brineAnd floating fields of foam been guilty of?Besides, if 'tis his will that we bewareAgainst the lightning-stroke, why feareth heTo grant us power for to behold the shot?And, contrariwise, if wills he to o'erwhelm us,Quite off our guard, with fire, why thunders heOff in yon quarter, so that we may shun?Why rouseth he beforehand darkling airAnd the far din and rumblings? And O howCanst thou believe he shoots at one same timeInto diverse directions? Or darest thouContend that never hath it come to passThat divers strokes have happened at one time?But oft and often hath it come to pass,And often still it must, that, even as showersAnd rains o'er many regions fall, so tooDart many thunderbolts at one same time.Again, why never hurtles JupiterA bolt upon the lands nor pours abroadClap upon clap, when skies are cloudless all?Or, say, doth he, so soon as ever the cloudsHave come thereunder, then into the sameDescend in person, that from thence he mayNear-by decide upon the stroke of shaft?And, lastly, why, with devastating boltShakes he asunder holy shrines of godsAnd his own thrones of splendour, and to-breaksThe well-wrought idols of divinities,And robs of glory his own imagesBy wound of violence?
But to return apace,Easy it is from these same facts to knowIn just what wise those things (which from their sortThe Greeks have named "bellows") do come down,Discharged from on high, upon the seas.For it haps that sometimes from the sky descendsUpon the seas a column, as if pushed,Round which the surges seethe, tremendouslyAroused by puffing gusts; and whatso'erOf ships are caught within that tumult thenCome into extreme peril, dashed along.This haps when sometimes wind's aroused forceCan't burst the cloud it tries to, but down-weighsThat cloud, until 'tis like a column from skyUpon the seas pushed downward--gradually,As if a Somewhat from on high were shovedBy fist and nether thrust of arm, and lengthenedFar to the waves. And when the force of windHath rived this cloud, from out the cloud it rushesDown on the seas, and starts among the wavesA wondrous seething, for the eddying whirlDescends and downward draws along with itThat cloud of ductile body. And soon as ever'Thas shoved unto the levels of the mainThat laden cloud, the whirl suddenly thenPlunges its whole self into the waters thereAnd rouses all the sea with monstrous roar,Constraining it to seethe. It happens tooThat very vortex of the wind involvesItself in clouds, scraping from out the airThe seeds of cloud, and counterfeits, as 'twere,The "bellows" pushed from heaven. And when this shapeHath dropped upon the lands and burst apart,It belches forth immeasurable mightOf whirlwind and of blast. Yet since 'tis formedAt most but rarely, and on land the hillsMust block its way, 'tis seen more oft out thereOn the broad prospect of the level mainAlong the free horizons.
Into beingThe clouds condense, when in this upper spaceOf the high heaven have gathered suddenly,As round they flew, unnumbered particles--World's rougher ones, which can, though interlinkedWith scanty couplings, yet be fastened firm,The one on other caught. These particlesFirst cause small clouds to form; and, thereupon,These catch the one on other and swarm in a flockAnd grow by their conjoining, and by windsAre borne along, along, until collectsThe tempest fury. Happens, too, the nearerThe mountain summits neighbour to the sky,The more unceasingly their far crags smokeWith the thick darkness of swart cloud, becauseWhen first the mists do form, ere ever the eyesCan there behold them (tenuous as they be),The carrier-winds will drive them up and onUnto the topmost summits of the mountain;And then at last it happens, when they beIn vaster throng upgathered, that they canBy this very condensation lie revealed,And that at same time they are seen to surgeFrom very vertex of the mountain upInto far ether. For very fact and feeling,As we up-climb high mountains, proveth clearThat windy are those upward regions free.Besides, the clothes hung-out along the shore,When in they take the clinging moisture, proveThat nature lifts from over all the seaUnnumbered particles. Whereby the more'Tis manifest that many particlesEven from the salt upheavings of the mainCan rise together to augment the bulkOf massed clouds. For moistures in these twainAre near akin. Besides, from out all rivers,As well as from the land itself, we seeUp-rising mists and steam, which like a breathAre forced out from them and borne aloft,To curtain heaven with their murk, and make,By slow foregathering, the skiey clouds.For, in addition, lo, the heat on highOf constellated ether burdens downUpon them, and by sort of condensationWeaveth beneath the azure firmamentThe reek of darkling cloud. It happens, too,That hither to the skies from the BeyondDo come those particles which make the cloudsAnd flying thunderheads. For I have taughtThat this their number is innumerableAnd infinite the sum of the Abyss,And I have shown with what stupendous speedThose bodies fly and how they're wont to passAmain through incommunicable space.Therefore, 'tis not exceeding strange, if oftIn little time tempest and darkness coverWith bulking thunderheads hanging on highThe oceans and the lands, since everywhereThrough all the narrow tubes of yonder ether,Yea, so to speak, through all the breathing-holesOf the great upper-world encompassing,There be for the primordial elementsExits and entrances.
Now come, and howThe rainy moisture thickens into beingIn the lofty clouds, and how upon the lands'Tis then discharged in down-pour of large showers,I will unfold. And first triumphantlyWill I persuade thee that up-rise together,With clouds themselves, full many seeds of waterFrom out all things, and that they both increase--Both clouds and water which is in the clouds--In like proportion, as our frames increaseIn like proportion with our blood, as wellAs sweat or any moisture in our members.Besides, the clouds take in from time to timeMuch moisture risen from the broad marine,--Whilst the winds bear them o'er the mighty sea,Like hanging fleeces of white wool. Thuswise,Even from all rivers is there lifted upMoisture into the clouds. And when thereinThe seeds of water so many in many waysHave come together, augmented from all sides,The close-jammed clouds then struggle to dischargeTheir rain-storms for a two-fold reason: lo,The wind's force crowds them, and the very excessOf storm-clouds (massed in a vaster throng)Giveth an urge and pressure from aboveAnd makes the rains out-pour. Besides when, too,The clouds are winnowed by the winds, or scatteredSmitten on top by heat of sun, they sendTheir rainy moisture, and distil their drops,Even as the wax, by fiery warmth on top,Wasteth and liquefies abundantly.But comes the violence of the bigger rainsWhen violently the clouds are weighted downBoth by their cumulated mass and byThe onset of the wind. And rains are wontTo endure awhile and to abide for long,When many seeds of waters are aroused,And clouds on clouds and racks on racks outstreamIn piled layers and are borne alongFrom every quarter, and when all the earthSmoking exhales her moisture. At such a timeWhen sun with beams amid the tempest-murkHath shone against the showers of black rains,Then in the swart clouds there emerges brightThe radiance of the bow.
And as to thingsNot mentioned here which of themselves do growOr of themselves are gendered, and all thingsWhich in the clouds condense to being--all,Snow and the winds, hail and the hoar-frosts chill,And freezing, mighty force--of lakes and poolsThe mighty hardener, and mighty checkWhich in the winter curbeth everywhereThe rivers as they go--'tis easy still,Soon to discover and with mind to seeHow they all happen, whereby gendered,When once thou well hast understood just whatFunctions have been vouchsafed from of oldUnto the procreant atoms of the world.Now come, and what the law of earthquakes isHearken, and first of all take care to knowThat the under-earth, like to the earth around us,Is full of windy caverns all about;And many a pool and many a grim abyssShe bears within her bosom, ay, and cliffsAnd jagged scarps; and many a river, hidBeneath her chine, rolls rapidly alongIts billows and plunging boulders. For clear factRequires that earth must be in every partAlike in constitution. Therefore, earth,With these things underneath affixed and set,Trembleth above, jarred by big down-tumblings,When time hath undermined the huge caves,The subterranean. Yea, whole mountains fall,And instantly from spot of that big jarThere quiver the tremors far and wide abroad.And with good reason: since houses on the streetBegin to quake throughout, when jarred by a cartOf no large weight; and, too, the furnitureWithin the house up-bounds, when a paving-blockGives either iron rim of the wheels a jolt.It happens, too, when some prodigious bulkOf age-worn soil is rolled from mountain slopesInto tremendous pools of water dark,That the reeling land itself is rocked aboutBy the water's undulations; as a basinSometimes won't come to rest until the fluidWithin it ceases to be rocked aboutIn random undulations.
And besides,When subterranean winds, up-gathered thereIn the hollow deeps, bulk forward from one spot,And press with the big urge of mighty powersAgainst the lofty grottos, then the earthBulks to that quarter whither push amainThe headlong winds. Then all the builded housesAbove ground--and the more, the higher up-rearedUnto the sky--lean ominously, careeningInto the same direction; and the beams,Wrenched forward, over-hang, ready to go.Yet dread men to believe that there awaitsThe nature of the mighty world a timeOf doom and cataclysm, albeit they seeSo great a bulk of lands to bulge and break!And lest the winds blew back again, no forceCould rein things in nor hold from sure careerOn to disaster. But now because those windsBlow back and forth in alternation strong,And, so to say, rallying charge again,And then repulsed retreat, on this accountEarth oftener threatens than she brings to passCollapses dire. For to one side she leans,Then back she sways; and after totteringForward, recovers then her seats of poise.Thus, this is why whole houses rock, the roofsMore than the middle stories, middle moreThan lowest, and the lowest least of all.
Arises, too, this same great earth-quaking,When wind and some prodigious force of air,Collected from without or down withinThe old telluric deeps, have hurled themselvesAmain into those caverns sub-terrene,And there at first tumultuously chafeAmong the vasty grottos, borne aboutIn mad rotations, till their lashed forceAroused out-bursts abroad, and then and there,Riving the deep earth, makes a mighty chasm--What once in Syrian Sidon did befall,And once in Peloponnesian Aegium,Twain cities which such out-break of wild airAnd earth's convulsion, following hard upon,O'erthrew of old. And many a walled town,Besides, hath fall'n by such omnipotentConvulsions on the land, and in the seaEngulfed hath sunken many a city downWith all its populace. But if, indeed,They burst not forth, yet is the very rushOf the wild air and fury-force of windThen dissipated, like an ague-fit,Through the innumerable pores of earth,To set her all a-shake--even as a chill,When it hath gone into our marrow-bones,Sets us convulsively, despite ourselves,A-shivering and a-shaking. Therefore, menWith two-fold terror bustle in alarmThrough cities to and fro: they fear the roofsAbove the head; and underfoot they dreadThe caverns, lest the nature of the earthSuddenly rend them open, and she gape,Herself asunder, with tremendous maw,And, all confounded, seek to chock it fullWith her own ruins. Let men, then, go onFeigning at will that heaven and earth shall beInviolable, entrusted evermoreTo an eternal weal: and yet at timesThe very force of danger here at handProds them on some side with this goad of fear--This among others--that the earth, withdrawnAbruptly from under their feet, be hurried down,Down into the abyss, and the Sum-of-ThingsBe following after, utterly fordone,Till be but wrack and wreckage of a world.
*****
EXTRAORDINARY AND PARADOXICAL TELLURICPHENOMENA
In chief, men marvel nature renders notBigger and bigger the bulk of ocean, sinceSo vast the down-rush of the waters be,And every river out of every realmCometh thereto; and add the random rainsAnd flying tempests, which spatter every seaAnd every land bedew; add their own springs:Yet all of these unto the ocean's sumShall be but as the increase of a drop.Wherefore 'tis less a marvel that the sea,The mighty ocean, increaseth not. Besides,Sun with his heat draws off a mighty part:Yea, we behold that sun with burning beamsTo dry our garments dripping all with wet;And many a sea, and far out-spread beneath,Do we behold. Therefore, however slightThe portion of wet that sun on any spotCulls from the level main, he still will takeFrom off the waves in such a wide expanseAbundantly. Then, further, also winds,Sweeping the level waters, can bear offA mighty part of wet, since we beholdOft in a single night the highways driedBy winds, and soft mud crusted o'er at dawn.Again, I've taught thee that the clouds bear offMuch moisture too, up-taken from the reachesOf the mighty main, and sprinkle it aboutO'er all the zones, when rain is on the landsAnd winds convey the aery racks of vapour.Lastly, since earth is porous through her frame,And neighbours on the seas, girdling their shores,The water's wet must seep into the landsFrom briny ocean, as from lands it comesInto the seas. For brine is filtered off,And then the liquid stuff seeps back againAnd all re-poureth at the river-heads,Whence in fresh-water currents it returnsOver the lands, adown the channels whichWere cleft erstwhile and erstwhile bore alongThe liquid-footed floods.
And now the causeWhereby athrough the throat of Aetna's MountSuch vast tornado-fires out-breathe at times,I will unfold: for with no middling mightOf devastation the flamy tempest roseAnd held dominion in Sicilian fields:Drawing upon itself the upturned facesOf neighbouring clans, what time they saw afarThe skiey vaults a-fume and sparkling all,And filled their bosoms with dread anxietyOf what new thing nature were travailing at.
In these affairs it much behooveth theeTo look both wide and deep, and far abroadTo peer to every quarter, that thou maystRemember how boundless is the Sum-of-Things,And mark how infinitely small a partOf the whole Sum is this one sky of ours--O not so large a part as is one manOf the whole earth. And plainly if thou viewestThis cosmic fact, placing it square in front,And plainly understandest, thou wilt leaveWondering at many things. For who of usWondereth if some one gets into his jointsA fever, gathering head with fiery heat,Or any other dolorous diseaseAlong his members? For anon the footGrows blue and bulbous; often the sharp twingeSeizes the teeth, attacks the very eyes;Out-breaks the sacred fire, and, crawling onOver the body, burneth every partIt seizeth on, and works its hideous wayAlong the frame. No marvel this, since, lo,Of things innumerable be seeds enough,And this our earth and sky do bring to usEnough of bane from whence can grow the strengthOf maladies uncounted. Thuswise, then,We must suppose to all the sky and earthAre ever supplied from out the infiniteAll things, O all in stores enough wherebyThe shaken earth can of a sudden move,And fierce typhoons can over sea and landsGo tearing on, and Aetna's fires o'erflow,And heaven become a flame-burst. For that, too,Happens at times, and the celestial vaultsGlow into fire, and rainy tempests riseIn heavier congregation, when, percase,The seeds of water have foregathered thusFrom out the infinite. "Aye, but passing hugeThe fiery turmoil of that conflagration!"So sayst thou; well, huge many a river seemsTo him that erstwhile ne'er a larger saw;Thus, huge seems tree or man; and everythingWhich mortal sees the biggest of each class,That he imagines to be "huge"; though yetAll these, with sky and land and sea to boot,Are all as nothing to the sum entireOf the all-Sum.
But now I will unfoldAt last how yonder suddenly angered flameOut-blows abroad from vasty furnacesAetnaean. First, the mountain's nature isAll under-hollow, propped about, aboutWith caverns of basaltic piers. And, lo,In all its grottos be there wind and air--For wind is made when air hath been uprousedBy violent agitation. When this airIs heated through and through, and, raging round,Hath made the earth and all the rocks it touchesHorribly hot, and hath struck off from themFierce fire of swiftest flame, it lifts itselfAnd hurtles thus straight upwards through its throatInto high heav'n, and thus bears on afarIts burning blasts and scattereth afarIts ashes, and rolls a smoke of pitchy murkAnd heaveth the while boulders of wondrous weight--Leaving no doubt in thee that 'tis the air'sTumultuous power. Besides, in mighty part,The sea there at the roots of that same mountBreaks its old billows and sucks back its surf.And grottos from the sea pass in belowEven to the bottom of the mountain's throat.Herethrough thou must admit there go...
*****
And the conditions force [the water and air]Deeply to penetrate from the open sea,And to out-blow abroad, and to up-bearThereby the flame, and to up-cast from deepsThe boulders, and to rear the clouds of sand.For at the top be "bowls," as people thereAre wont to name what we at Rome do callThe throats and mouths.
There be, besides, some thingOf which 'tis not enough one only causeTo state--but rather several, whereof oneWill be the true: lo, if thou shouldst espyLying afar some fellow's lifeless corse,'Twere meet to name all causes of a death,That cause of his death might thereby be named:For prove thou mayst he perished not by steel,By cold, nor even by poison nor disease,Yet somewhat of this sort hath come to himWe know--And thus we have to say the sameIn divers cases.
Toward the summer, NileWaxeth and overfloweth the champaign,Unique in all the landscape, river soleOf the Aegyptians. In mid-season heatsOften and oft he waters Aegypt o'er,Either because in summer against his mouthsCome those northwinds which at that time of yearMen name the Etesian blasts, and, blowing thusUpstream, retard, and, forcing back his waves,Fill him o'erfull and force his flow to stop.For out of doubt these blasts which driven beFrom icy constellations of the poleAre borne straight up the river. Comes that riverFrom forth the sultry places down the south,Rising far up in midmost realm of day,Among black generations of strong menWith sun-baked skins. 'Tis possible, besides,That a big bulk of piled sand may barHis mouths against his onward waves, when sea,Wild in the winds, tumbles the sand to inland;Whereby the river's outlet were less free,Likewise less headlong his descending floods.It may be, too, that in this season rainsAre more abundant at its fountain head,Because the Etesian blasts of those northwindsThen urge all clouds into those inland parts.And, soothly, when they're thus foregathered there,Urged yonder into midmost realm of day,Then, crowded against the lofty mountain sides,They're massed and powerfully pressed. Again,Perchance, his waters wax, O far away,Among the Aethiopians' lofty mountains,When the all-beholding sun with thawing beamsDrives the white snows to flow into the vales.
Now come; and unto thee I will unfold,As to the Birdless spots and Birdless tarns,What sort of nature they are furnished with.First, as to name of "birdless,"--that derivesFrom very fact, because they noxious beUnto all birds. For when above those spotsIn horizontal flight the birds have come,Forgetting to oar with wings, they furl their sails,And, with down-drooping of their delicate necks,Fall headlong into earth, if haply suchThe nature of the spots, or into water,If haply spreads thereunder Birdless tarn.Such spot's at Cumae, where the mountains smoke,Charged with the pungent sulphur, and increasedWith steaming springs. And such a spot there isWithin the walls of Athens, even thereOn summit of Acropolis, besideFane of Tritonian Pallas bountiful,Where never cawing crows can wing their course,Not even when smoke the altars with good gifts,--But evermore they flee--yet not from wrathOf Pallas, grieved at that espial old,As poets of the Greeks have sung the tale;But very nature of the place compels.In Syria also--as men say--a spotIs to be seen, where also four-foot kinds,As soon as ever they've set their steps within,Collapse, o'ercome by its essential power,As if there slaughtered to the under-gods.Lo, all these wonders work by natural law,And from what causes they are brought to passThe origin is manifest; so, haply,Let none believe that in these regions standsThe gate of Orcus, nor us then suppose,Haply, that thence the under-gods draw downSouls to dark shores of Acheron--as stags,The wing-footed, are thought to draw to light,By sniffing nostrils, from their dusky lairsThe wriggling generations of wild snakes.How far removed from true reason is this,Perceive thou straight; for now I'll try to saySomewhat about the very fact.
And, first,This do I say, as oft I've said before:In earth are atoms of things of every sort;And know, these all thus rise from out the earth--Many life-giving which be good for food,And many which can generate diseaseAnd hasten death, O many primal seedsOf many things in many modes--since earthContains them mingled and gives forth discrete.And we have shown before that certain thingsBe unto certain creatures suited moreFor ends of life, by virtue of a nature,A texture, and primordial shapes, unlikeFor kinds alike. Then too 'tis thine to seeHow many things oppressive be and foulTo man, and to sensation most malign:Many meander miserably through ears;Many in-wind athrough the nostrils too,Malign and harsh when mortal draws a breath;Of not a few must one avoid the touch;Of not a few must one escape the sight;And some there be all loathsome to the taste;And many, besides, relax the languid limbsAlong the frame, and undermine the soulIn its abodes within. To certain treesThere hath been given so dolorous a shadeThat often they gender achings of the head,If one but be beneath, outstretched on the sward.There is, again, on Helicon's high hillsA tree that's wont to kill a man outrightBy fetid odour of its very flower.And when the pungent stench of the night-lamp,Extinguished but a moment since, assailsThe nostrils, then and there it puts to sleepA man afflicted with the falling sicknessAnd foamings at the mouth. A woman, too,At the heavy castor drowses back in chair,And from her delicate fingers slips awayHer gaudy handiwork, if haply sheHath got the whiff at menstruation-time.Once more, if thou delayest in hot baths,When thou art over-full, how readilyFrom stool in middle of the steaming waterThou tumblest in a fit! How readilyThe heavy fumes of charcoal wind their wayInto the brain, unless beforehand weOf water 've drunk. But when a burning fever,O'ermastering man, hath seized upon his limbs,Then odour of wine is like a hammer-blow.And seest thou not how in the very earthSulphur is gendered and bitumen thickensWith noisome stench?--What direful stenches, too,Scaptensula out-breathes from down below,When men pursue the veins of silver and gold,With pick-axe probing round the hidden realmsDeep in the earth?--Or what of deadly baneThe mines of gold exhale? O what a look,And what a ghastly hue they give to men!And seest thou not, or hearest, how they're wontIn little time to perish, and how failThe life-stores in those folk whom mighty powerOf grim necessity confineth thereIn such a task? Thus, this telluric earthOut-streams with all these dread effluviaAnd breathes them out into the open worldAnd into the visible regions under heaven.
Thus, too, those Birdless places must up-sendAn essence bearing death to winged things,Which from the earth rises into the breezesTo poison part of skiey space, and whenThither the winged is on pennons borne,There, seized by the unseen poison, 'tis ensnared,And from the horizontal of its flightDrops to the spot whence sprang the effluvium.And when 'thas there collapsed, then the same powerOf that effluvium takes from all its limbsThe relics of its life. That power first strikesThe creatures with a wildering dizziness,And then thereafter, when they're once down-fallenInto the poison's very fountains, thenLife, too, they vomit out perforce, becauseSo thick the stores of bane around them fume.
Again, at times it happens that this power,This exhalation of the Birdless places,Dispels the air betwixt the ground and birds,Leaving well-nigh a void. And thither whenIn horizontal flight the birds have come,Forthwith their buoyancy of pennons limps,All useless, and each effort of both wingsFalls out in vain. Here, when without all powerTo buoy themselves and on their wings to lean,Lo, nature constrains them by their weight to slipDown to the earth, and lying prostrate thereAlong the well-nigh empty void, they spendTheir souls through all the openings of their frame.
*****
Further, the water of wells is colder thenAt summer time, because the earth by heatIs rarefied, and sends abroad in airWhatever seeds it peradventure haveOf its own fiery exhalations.The more, then, the telluric ground is drainedOf heat, the colder grows the water hidWithin the earth. Further, when all the earthIs by the cold compressed, and thus contractsAnd, so to say, concretes, it happens, lo,That by contracting it expresses thenInto the wells what heat it bears itself.
'Tis said at Hammon's fane a fountain is,In daylight cold and hot in time of night.This fountain men be-wonder over-much,And think that suddenly it seethes in heatBy intense sun, the subterranean, whenNight with her terrible murk hath cloaked the lands--What's not true reasoning by a long remove:I' faith when sun o'erhead, touching with beamsAn open body of water, had no powerTo render it hot upon its upper side,Though his high light possess such burning glare,How, then, can he, when under the gross earth,Make water boil and glut with fiery heat?--And, specially, since scarcely potent heThrough hedging walls of houses to injectHis exhalations hot, with ardent rays.What, then's, the principle? Why, this, indeed:The earth about that spring is porous moreThan elsewhere the telluric ground, and beMany the seeds of fire hard by the water;On this account, when night with dew-fraught shadesHath whelmed the earth, anon the earth deep downGrows chill, contracts; and thuswise squeezes outInto the spring what seeds she holds of fire(As one might squeeze with fist), which render hotThe touch and steam of the fluid. Next, when sun,Up-risen, with his rays has split the soilAnd rarefied the earth with waxing heat,Again into their ancient abodes returnThe seeds of fire, and all the Hot of waterInto the earth retires; and this is whyThe fountain in the daylight gets so cold.Besides, the water's wet is beat uponBy rays of sun, and, with the dawn, becomesRarer in texture under his pulsing blaze;And, therefore, whatso seeds it holds of fireIt renders up, even as it renders oftThe frost that it contains within itselfAnd thaws its ice and looseneth the knots.There is, moreover, a fountain cold in kindThat makes a bit of tow (above it held)Take fire forthwith and shoot a flame; so, too,A pitch-pine torch will kindle and flare roundAlong its waves, wherever 'tis impelledAfloat before the breeze. No marvel, this:Because full many seeds of heat there beWithin the water; and, from earth itselfOut of the deeps must particles of fireAthrough the entire fountain surge aloft,And speed in exhalations into airForth and abroad (yet not in numbers enowAs to make hot the fountain). And, moreo'er,Some force constrains them, scattered through the water,Forthwith to burst abroad, and to combineIn flame above. Even as a fountain farThere is at Aradus amid the sea,Which bubbles out sweet water and dispartsFrom round itself the salt waves; and, behold,In many another region the broad mainYields to the thirsty mariners timely help,Belching sweet waters forth amid salt waves.Just so, then, can those seeds of fire burst forthAthrough that other fount, and bubble outAbroad against the bit of tow; and whenThey there collect or cleave unto the torch,Forthwith they readily flash aflame, becauseThe tow and torches, also, in themselvesHave many seeds of latent fire. Indeed,And seest thou not, when near the nightly lampsThou bringest a flaxen wick, extinguishedA moment since, it catches fire before'Thas touched the flame, and in same wise a torch?And many another object flashes aflameWhen at a distance, touched by heat alone,Before 'tis steeped in veritable fire.This, then, we must suppose to come to passIn that spring also.
Now to other things!And I'll begin to treat by what decreeOf nature it came to pass that iron can beBy that stone drawn which Greeks the magnet callAfter the country's name (its originBeing in country of Magnesian folk).This stone men marvel at; and sure it oftMaketh a chain of rings, depending, lo,From off itself! Nay, thou mayest see at timesFive or yet more in order dangling downAnd swaying in the delicate winds, whilst oneDepends from other, cleaving to under-side,And ilk one feels the stone's own power and bonds--So over-masteringly its power flows down.
In things of this sort, much must be made sureEre thou account of the thing itself canst give,And the approaches roundabout must be;Wherefore the more do I exact of theeA mind and ears attent.
First, from all thingsWe see soever, evermore must flow,Must be discharged and strewn about, about,Bodies that strike the eyes, awaking sight.From certain things flow odours evermore,As cold from rivers, heat from sun, and sprayFrom waves of ocean, eater-out of wallsAlong the coasts. Nor ever cease to seepThe varied echoings athrough the air.Then, too, there comes into the mouth at timesThe wet of a salt taste, when by the seaWe roam about; and so, whene'er we watchThe wormwood being mixed, its bitter stings.To such degree from all things is each thingBorne streamingly along, and sent aboutTo every region round; and nature grantsNor rest nor respite of the onward flow,Since 'tis incessantly we feeling have,And all the time are suffered to descryAnd smell all things at hand, and hear them sound.
Now will I seek again to bring to mindHow porous a body all things have--a factMade manifest in my first canto, too.For, truly, though to know this doth importFor many things, yet for this very thingOn which straightway I'm going to discourse,'Tis needful most of all to make it sureThat naught's at hand but body mixed with void.A first ensample: in grottos, rocks o'erheadSweat moisture and distil the oozy drops;Likewise, from all our body seeps the sweat;There grows the beard, and along our members allAnd along our frame the hairs. Through all our veinsDisseminates the foods, and gives increaseAnd aliment down to the extreme parts,Even to the tiniest finger-nails. Likewise,Through solid bronze the cold and fiery heatWe feel to pass; likewise, we feel them passThrough gold, through silver, when we clasp in handThe brimming goblets. And, again, there flitVoices through houses' hedging walls of stone;Odour seeps through, and cold, and heat of fireThat's wont to penetrate even strength of iron.Again, where corselet of the sky girds round
*****
And at same time, some Influence of bane,When from Beyond 'thas stolen into [our world].And tempests, gathering from the earth and sky,Back to the sky and earth absorbed retire--With reason, since there's naught that's fashioned notWith body porous.
Furthermore, not allThe particles which be from things thrown offAre furnished with same qualities for sense,Nor be for all things equally adapt.A first ensample: the sun doth bake and parchThe earth; but ice he thaws, and with his beamsCompels the lofty snows, up-reared whiteUpon the lofty hills, to waste away;Then, wax, if set beneath the heat of him,Melts to a liquid. And the fire, likewise,Will melt the copper and will fuse the gold,But hides and flesh it shrivels up and shrinks.The water hardens the iron just off the fire,But hides and flesh (made hard by heat) it softens.The oleaster-tree as much delightsThe bearded she-goats, verily as though'Twere nectar-steeped and shed ambrosia;Than which is naught that burgeons into leafMore bitter food for man. A hog draws backFor marjoram oil, and every unguent fearsFierce poison these unto the bristled hogs,Yet unto us from time to time they seem,As 'twere, to give new life. But, contrariwise,Though unto us the mire be filth most foul,To hogs that mire doth so delightsome seemThat they with wallowing from belly to backAre never cloyed.
A point remains, besides,Which best it seems to tell of, ere I goTo telling of the fact at hand itself.Since to the varied things assigned beThe many pores, those pores must be diverseIn nature one from other, and each haveIts very shape, its own direction fixed.And so, indeed, in breathing creatures beThe several senses, of which each takes inUnto itself, in its own fashion ever,Its own peculiar object. For we markHow sounds do into one place penetrate,Into another flavours of all juice,And savour of smell into a third. Moreover,One sort through rocks we see to seep, and, lo,One sort to pass through wood, another stillThrough gold, and others to go out and offThrough silver and through glass. For we do seeThrough some pores form-and-look of things to flow,Through others heat to go, and some things stillTo speedier pass than others through same pores.Of verity, the nature of these same paths,Varying in many modes (as aforesaid)Because of unlike nature and warp and woofOf cosmic things, constrains it so to be.
Wherefore, since all these matters now have beenEstablished and settled well for usAs premises prepared, for what remains'Twill not be hard to render clear accountBy means of these, and the whole cause revealWhereby the magnet lures the strength of iron.First, stream there must from off the lode-stone seedsInnumerable, a very tide, which smitesBy blows that air asunder lying betwixtThe stone and iron. And when is emptied outThis space, and a large place between the twoIs made a void, forthwith the primal germsOf iron, headlong slipping, fall conjoinedInto the vacuum, and the ring itselfBy reason thereof doth follow after and goThuswise with all its body. And naught there isThat of its own primordial elementsMore thoroughly knit or tighter linked coheresThan nature and cold roughness of stout iron.Wherefore, 'tis less a marvel what I said,That from such elements no bodies canFrom out the iron collect in larger throngAnd be into the vacuum borne along,Without the ring itself do follow after.And this it does, and followeth on until'Thath reached the stone itself and cleaved to itBy links invisible. Moreover, likewise,The motion's assisted by a thing of aid(Whereby the process easier becomes),--Namely, by this: as soon as rarer growsThat air in front of the ring, and space betweenIs emptied more and made a void, forthwithIt happens all the air that lies behindConveys it onward, pushing from the rear.For ever doth the circumambient airDrub things unmoved, but here it pushes forthThe iron, because upon one side the spaceLies void and thus receives the iron in.This air, whereof I am reminding thee,Winding athrough the iron's abundant poresSo subtly into the tiny parts thereof,Shoves it and pushes, as wind the ship and sails.The same doth happen in all directions forth:From whatso side a space is made a void,Whether from crosswise or above, forthwithThe neighbour particles are borne alongInto the vacuum; for of verity,They're set a-going by poundings from elsewhere,Nor by themselves of own accord can theyRise upwards into the air. Again, all thingsMust in their framework hold some air, becauseThey are of framework porous, and the airEncompasses and borders on all things.Thus, then, this air in iron so deeply storedIs tossed evermore in vexed motion,And therefore drubs upon the ring sans doubtAnd shakes it up inside....
*****
In sooth, that ring is thither borne alongTo where 'thas once plunged headlong--thither, lo,Unto the void whereto it took its start.
It happens, too, at times that nature of ironShrinks from this stone away, accustomedBy turns to flee and follow. Yea, I've seenThose Samothracian iron rings leap up,And iron filings in the brazen bowlsSeethe furiously, when underneath was setThe magnet stone. So strongly iron seemsTo crave to flee that rock. Such discord greatIs gendered by the interposed brass,Because, forsooth, when first the tide of brassHath seized upon and held possession ofThe iron's open passage-ways, thereafterCometh the tide of the stone, and in that ironFindeth all spaces full, nor now hath holesTo swim through, as before. 'Tis thus constrainedWith its own current 'gainst the iron's fabricTo dash and beat; by means whereof it spuesForth from itself--and through the brass stirs up--The things which otherwise without the brassIt sucks into itself. In these affairsMarvel thou not that from this stone the tidePrevails not likewise other things to moveWith its own blows: for some stand firm by weight,As gold; and some cannot be moved forever,Because so porous in their framework theyThat there the tide streams through without a break,Of which sort stuff of wood is seen to be.Therefore, when iron (which lies between the two)Hath taken in some atoms of the brass,Then do the streams of that Magnesian rockMove iron by their smitings.
Yet these thingsAre not so alien from others, that IOf this same sort am ill prepared to nameEnsamples still of things exclusivelyTo one another adapt. Thou seest, first,How lime alone cementeth stones: how woodOnly by glue-of-bull with wood is joined--So firmly too that oftener the boardsCrack open along the weakness of the grainEre ever those taurine bonds will lax their hold.The vine-born juices with the water-springsAre bold to mix, though not the heavy pitchWith the light oil-of-olive. And purple dyeOf shell-fish so uniteth with the wool'sBody alone that it cannot be ta'enAway forever--nay, though thou gavest toilTo restore the same with the Neptunian flood,Nay, though all ocean willed to wash it outWith all its waves. Again, gold unto goldDoth not one substance bind, and only one?And is not brass by tin joined unto brass?And other ensamples how many might one find!What then? Nor is there unto thee a needOf such long ways and roundabout, nor boots itFor me much toil on this to spend. More fitIt is in few words briefly to embraceThings many: things whose textures fall togetherSo mutually adapt, that cavitiesTo solids correspond, these cavitiesOf this thing to the solid parts of that,And those of that to solid parts of this--Such joinings are the best. Again, some thingsCan be the one with other coupled and held,Linked by hooks and eyes, as 'twere; and thisSeems more the fact with iron and this stone.Now, of diseases what the law, and whenceThe Influence of bane upgathering canUpon the race of man and herds of cattleKindle a devastation fraught with death,I will unfold. And, first, I've taught aboveThat seeds there be of many things to usLife-giving, and that, contrariwise, there mustFly many round bringing disease and death.When these have, haply, chanced to collectAnd to derange the atmosphere of earth,The air becometh baneful. And, lo, allThat Influence of bane, that pestilence,Or from Beyond down through our atmosphere,Like clouds and mists, descends, or else collectsFrom earth herself and rises, when, a-soakAnd beat by rains unseasonable and suns,Our earth hath then contracted stench and rot.Seest thou not, also, that whoso arriveIn region far from fatherland and homeAre by the strangeness of the clime and watersDistempered?--since conditions vary much.For in what else may we suppose the climeAmong the Britons to differ from Aegypt's own(Where totters awry the axis of the world),Or in what else to differ Pontic climeFrom Gades' and from climes adown the south,On to black generations of strong menWith sun-baked skins? Even as we thus do seeFour climes diverse under the four main-windsAnd under the four main-regions of the sky,So, too, are seen the colour and face of menVastly to disagree, and fixed diseasesTo seize the generations, kind by kind:There is the elephant-disease which downIn midmost Aegypt, hard by streams of Nile,Engendered is--and never otherwhere.In Attica the feet are oft attacked,And in Achaean lands the eyes. And soThe divers spots to divers parts and limbsAre noxious; 'tis a variable airThat causes this. Thus when an atmosphere,Alien by chance to us, begins to heave,And noxious airs begin to crawl along,They creep and wind like unto mist and cloud,Slowly, and everything upon their wayThey disarrange and force to change its state.It happens, too, that when they've come at lastInto this atmosphere of ours, they taintAnd make it like themselves and alien.Therefore, asudden this devastation strange,This pestilence, upon the waters falls,Or settles on the very crops of grainOr other meat of men and feed of flocks.Or it remains a subtle force, suspenseIn the atmosphere itself; and when therefromWe draw our inhalations of mixed air,Into our body equally its baneAlso we must suck in. In manner like,Oft comes the pestilence upon the kine,And sickness, too, upon the sluggish sheep.Nor aught it matters whether journey weTo regions adverse to ourselves and changeThe atmospheric cloak, or whether natureHerself import a tainted atmosphereTo us or something strange to our own useWhich can attack us soon as ever it come.
THE PLAGUE ATHENS
'Twas such a manner of disease, 'twas suchMortal miasma in Cecropian landsWhilom reduced the plains to dead men's bones,Unpeopled the highways, drained of citizensThe Athenian town. For coming from afar,Rising in lands of Aegypt, traversingReaches of air and floating fields of foam,At last on all Pandion's folk it swooped;Whereat by troops unto disease and deathWere they o'er-given. At first, they'd bear aboutA skull on fire with heat, and eyeballs twainRed with suffusion of blank glare. Their throats,Black on the inside, sweated oozy blood;And the walled pathway of the voice of manWas clogged with ulcers; and the very tongue,The mind's interpreter, would trickle gore,Weakened by torments, tardy, rough to touch.Next when that Influence of bane had chocked,Down through the throat, the breast, and streamed hadE'en into sullen heart of those sick folk,Then, verily, all the fences of man's lifeBegan to topple. From the mouth the breathWould roll a noisome stink, as stink to heavenRotting cadavers flung unburied out.And, lo, thereafter, all the body's strengthAnd every power of mind would languish, nowIn very doorway of destruction.And anxious anguish and ululation (mixedWith many a groan) companioned alwayThe intolerable torments. Night and day,Recurrent spasms of vomiting would rackAlway their thews and members, breaking downWith sheer exhaustion men already spent.And yet on no one's body couldst thou markThe skin with o'er-much heat to burn aglow,But rather the body unto touch of handsWould offer a warmish feeling, and therebyShow red all over, with ulcers, so to say,Inbranded, like the "sacred fires" o'erspreadAlong the members. The inward parts of men,In truth, would blaze unto the very bones;A flame, like flame in furnaces, would blazeWithin the stomach. Nor couldst aught applyUnto their members light enough and thinFor shift of aid--but coolness and a breezeEver and ever. Some would plunge those limbsOn fire with bane into the icy streams,Hurling the body naked into the waves;Many would headlong fling them deeply downThe water-pits, tumbling with eager mouthAlready agape. The insatiable thirstThat whelmed their parched bodies, lo, would makeA goodly shower seem like to scanty drops.Respite of torment was there none. Their framesForspent lay prone. With silent lips of fearWould Medicine mumble low, the while she sawSo many a time men roll their eyeballs round,Staring wide-open, unvisited of sleep,The heralds of old death. And in those monthsWas given many another sign of death:The intellect of mind by sorrow and dreadDeranged, the sad brow, the countenanceFierce and delirious, the tormented earsBeset with ringings, the breath quick and shortOr huge and intermittent, soaking sweatA-glisten on neck, the spittle in fine goutsTainted with colour of crocus and so salt,The cough scarce wheezing through the rattling throat.Aye, and the sinews in the fingered handsWere sure to contract, and sure the jointed frameTo shiver, and up from feet the cold to mountInch after inch: and toward the supreme hourAt last the pinched nostrils, nose's tipA very point, eyes sunken, temples hollow,Skin cold and hard, the shuddering grimace,The pulled and puffy flesh above the brows!--O not long after would their frames lie proneIn rigid death. And by about the eighthResplendent light of sun, or at the mostOn the ninth flaming of his flambeau, theyWould render up the life. If any thenHad 'scaped the doom of that destruction, yetHim there awaited in the after daysA wasting and a death from ulcers vileAnd black discharges of the belly, or elseThrough the clogged nostrils would there ooze alongMuch fouled blood, oft with an aching head:Hither would stream a man's whole strength and flesh.And whoso had survived that virulent flowOf the vile blood, yet into thews of himAnd into his joints and very genitalsWould pass the old disease. And some there were,Dreading the doorways of destructionSo much, lived on, deprived by the knifeOf the male member; not a few, though loppedOf hands and feet, would yet persist in life,And some there were who lost their eyeballs: OSo fierce a fear of death had fallen on them!And some, besides, were by oblivionOf all things seized, that even themselves they knewNo longer. And though corpse on corpse lay piledUnburied on ground, the race of birds and beastsWould or spring back, scurrying to escapeThe virulent stench, or, if they'd tasted there,Would languish in approaching death. But yetHardly at all during those many sunsAppeared a fowl, nor from the woods went forthThe sullen generations of wild beasts--They languished with disease and died and died.In chief, the faithful dogs, in all the streetsOutstretched, would yield their breath distressfullyFor so that Influence of bane would twistLife from their members. Nor was found one sureAnd universal principle of cure:For what to one had given the power to takeThe vital winds of air into his mouth,And to gaze upward at the vaults of sky,The same to others was their death and doom.
In those affairs, O awfullest of all,O pitiable most was this, was this:Whoso once saw himself in that diseaseEntangled, ay, as damned unto death,Would lie in wanhope, with a sullen heart,Would, in fore-vision of his funeral,Give up the ghost, O then and there. For, lo,At no time did they cease one from anotherTo catch contagion of the greedy plague,--As though but woolly flocks and horned herds;And this in chief would heap the dead on dead:For who forbore to look to their own sick,O these (too eager of life, of death afeard)Would then, soon after, slaughtering NeglectVisit with vengeance of evil death and base--Themselves deserted and forlorn of help.But who had stayed at hand would perish thereBy that contagion and the toil which thenA sense of honour and the pleading voiceOf weary watchers, mixed with voice of wailOf dying folk, forced them to undergo.This kind of death each nobler soul would meet.The funerals, uncompanioned, forsaken,Like rivals contended to be hurried through.
*****
And men contending to ensepulchrePile upon pile the throng of their own dead:And weary with woe and weeping wandered home;And then the most would take to bed from grief.Nor could be found not one, whom nor diseaseNor death, nor woe had not in those dread timesAttacked.
By now the shepherds and neatherds all,Yea, even the sturdy guiders of curved ploughs,Began to sicken, and their bodies would lieHuddled within back-corners of their huts,Delivered by squalor and disease to death.O often and often couldst thou then have seenOn lifeless children lifeless parents prone,Or offspring on their fathers', mothers' corpseYielding the life. And into the city pouredO not in least part from the countrysideThat tribulation, which the peasantrySick, sick, brought thither, thronging from every quarter,Plague-stricken mob. All places would they crowd,All buildings too; whereby the more would deathUp-pile a-heap the folk so crammed in town.Ah, many a body thirst had dragged and rolledAlong the highways there was lying strewnBesides Silenus-headed water-fountains,--The life-breath choked from that too dear desireOf pleasant waters. Ah, everywhere alongThe open places of the populace,And along the highways, O thou mightest seeOf many a half-dead body the sagged limbs,Rough with squalor, wrapped around with rags,Perish from very nastiness, with naughtBut skin upon the bones, well-nigh alreadyBuried--in ulcers vile and obscene filth.All holy temples, too, of deitiesHad Death becrammed with the carcasses;And stood each fane of the Celestial OnesLaden with stark cadavers everywhere--Places which warders of the shrines had crowdedWith many a guest. For now no longer menDid mightily esteem the old Divine,The worship of the gods: the woe at handDid over-master. Nor in the city thenRemained those rites of sepulture, with whichThat pious folk had evermore been wontTo buried be. For it was wildered allIn wild alarms, and each and every oneWith sullen sorrow would bury his own dead,As present shift allowed. And sudden stressAnd poverty to many an awful actImpelled; and with a monstrous screaming theyWould, on the frames of alien funeral pyres,Place their own kin, and thrust the torch beneathOft brawling with much bloodshed round aboutRather than quit dead bodies loved in life.