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TRANSLATIONS FROM LUCRETIUS

THE FOOLISHNESS OF SOLOMON 3s. 6d. LUCRETIUS ON DEATH 2s. 6d. THE PTERODAMOZELS 2s. THE NEW PARSIFAL 3s. 6d. THE BRIDE OF DIONYSUS 3s. 6d. SISYPHUS 5s. POLYPHEMUS 7s. 6d. THE BIRTH OF PARSIVAL 3s. 6d. CECILIA GONZAGA 2s. 6d. MALLOW AND ASPHODEL 2s. 6d. THE AJAX OF SOPHOCLES 2s.

TRANSLATIONS FROM LUCRETIUS

BY R. C. TREVELYAN

LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD. RUSKIN HOUSE 40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C. 1

TO G. LOWES DICKINSON

TRANSLATIONS FROM LUCRETIUS

BOOK I, lines 1-328

Thou mother of the Aenead race, delight Of men and deities, bountiful Venus, thou Who under the sky's gliding constellations Fillest ship-carrying ocean with thy presence And the corn-bearing lands, since through thy power Each kind of living creature is conceived Then riseth and beholdeth the sun's light: Before thee and thine advent the winds and clouds Of heaven take flight, O goddess: daedal earth Puts forth sweet-scented flowers beneath thy feet: Beholding thee the smooth deep laughs, the sky Grows calm and shines with wide-outspreading light. For soon as the day's vernal countenance Has been revealed, and fresh from wintry bonds Blows the birth-giving breeze of the West wind, First do the birds of air give sign of thee, Goddess, and thine approach, as through their hearts Thine influence smites. Next the wild herds of beasts Bound over the rich pastures and swim through The rapid streams, as captured by thy charm Each one with eager longing follows thee Whithersoever thou wouldst lure them on. And thus through seas, mountains and rushing rivers, Through the birds' leafy homes and the green plains, Striking bland love into the hearts of all, Thou art the cause that following his lust Each should renew his race after his kind. Therefore since thou alone art nature's mistress, And since without thine aid naught can rise forth Into the glorious regions of the light, Nor aught grow to be gladsome and delectable, Thee would I win to help me while I write These verses, wherein I labour to describe The nature of things in honour of my friend This scion of the Memmian house, whom thou Hast willed to be found peerless all his days In every grace. Therefore the more, great deity, Grant to my words eternal loveliness: Cause meanwhile that the savage works of warfare Over all seas and lands sink hushed to rest. For thou alone hast power to bless mankind With tranquil peace; since of war's savage works Mavors mighty in battle hath control, Who oft flings himself back upon thy lap, Quite vanquished by love's never-healing wound; And so with upturned face and shapely neck Thrown backward, feeds with love his hungry looks, Gazing on thee, goddess, while thus he lies Supine, and on thy lips his spirit hangs. O'er him thus couched upon thy holy body Do thou bend down to enfold him, and from thy lips Pour tender speech, petitioning calm peace, O glorious divinity, for thy Romans. For nor can we in our country's hour of trouble Toil with a mind untroubled at our task, Nor yet may the famed child of Memmius Be spared from public service in such times.

For the rest, leisured ears and a keen mind Withdrawn from cares, lend to true reasoning, Lest my gifts, which with loving diligence I set out for you, ere they be understood You should reject disdainfully. For now About the most high theory of the heavens And of the deities, I will undertake To tell you in my discourse, and will reveal The first beginnings of existing things, Out of which nature gives birth and increase And nourishment to all things; into which Nature likewise, when they have been destroyed, Resolves them back in turn. These we are wont, In setting forth our argument, to call Matter, or else begetting particles, Or to name them the seeds of things: again As primal atoms we shall speak of them, Because from them first everything is formed.

When prostrate upon earth lay human life Visibly trampled down and foully crushed Beneath religion's cruelty, who meanwhile Forth from the regions of the heavens above Showed forth her face, lowering down on men With horrible aspect, first did a man of Greece Dare to lift up his mortal eyes against her; The first was he to stand up and defy her. Him neither stories of the gods, nor lightnings, Nor heaven with muttering menaces could quell, But all the more did they arouse his soul's Keen valour, till he longed to be the first To break through the fast-bolted doors of nature. Therefore his fervent energy of mind Prevailed, and he passed onward, voyaging far Beyond the flaming ramparts of the world, Ranging in mind and spirit far and wide Throughout the unmeasured universe; and thence A conqueror he returns to us, bringing back Knowledge both of what can and what cannot Rise into being, teaching us in fine Upon what principle each thing has its powers Limited, and its deep-set boundary stone. Therefore now has religion been cast down Beneath men's feet, and trampled on in turn: Ourselves heaven-high his victory exalts.

Nor am I unaware how hard my task In Latin verses to set clearly forth The obscure truths discovered by the Greeks, Chiefly because so much will need new terms To deal with it, owing to our poverty Of language, and the novelty of the themes. Nevertheless your worth and the delight Of your sweet friendship, which I hope to win, Prompt me to bear the burden of any toil, And lead me on to watch the calm nights through, Seeking by means of what words and what measures I may attain my end, and shed so clear A light upon your spirit, that thereby Your gaze may search the depths of hidden things.

BOOK II, lines 991-1174

Moreover we are sprung, all we that live, From heavenly seed: there is, for all, that same One father; from whom when the bounteous Earth, Our mother, has drunk in the liquid drops Of moisture, then by him impregnated She bears bright crops and glad trees and the race Of men, bears every species of wild beast, Furnishing food with which all feed their bodies, And lead a pleasant life, and propagate Their offspring. Wherefore justly she has won The name of mother. Also that which once Came from the earth, sinks back into the earth, And what was sent down from the coasts of aether, Returning thither, is received once more Into the mansions of the sky. So death Does not demolish things in such a way As to destroy the particles of matter, But only dissipates their union, Then recombines one element with another, And so brings it to pass that all things change Their shapes, alter their colours, and receive Sensations, then in a moment yield them up. Thus you may learn how greatly it signifies Both with what others and in what positions The same primordial atoms are held bound; Also what motions they are mutually Imparting and receiving: and thus too You need no more suppose that what we see Hovering upon the surfaces of things, Or now being born, then suddenly perishing, Can be inherent qualities in atoms That are eternal. Nay, in my verses even It is of moment with what other letters And in what order each one has been placed. If not all, yet by far the greater part Are similar letters: but as their position Varies, so do the words sound different. Thus too with actual things, whenever change Takes place in the collisions motions order Shape and position of their material atoms, Then also must the things themselves be changed.

Now to true reasoning turn your mind, I pray; For a new theme is struggling urgently To reach your ears, a new aspect of things Would now reveal itself. But there is naught So easy, that at first it will not seem Difficult of belief, and likewise naught So mighty, naught so wondrous, but that all Little by little abate their wonder at it. Consider first the colour of the heavens, So bright and pure, and all that they contain, The stars wandering everywhere, the moon And the surpassing radiance of the sun; If all these sights were now for the first time To be revealed to mortals suddenly And without warning, what could have been described That would have seemed more marvellous than such things, Or that humanity could less have dared Beforehand to believe might come to pass? Nothing, I think: so wonderful had been This spectacle. Yet think how no one now, Wearied to satiety at the sight, Deigns to look up at the sky's shining quarters. Cease therefore to cast reason from your mind Terrified by mere novelty, but rather Weigh facts with eager judgment; and if then They appear true, surrender; if they seem A falsehood, gird yourself to prove them so. For since the sum of space outside, beyond This world's walls, must be infinite, the mind seeks To reason as to what may else exist Yonder in regions whither the intellect Is constantly desiring to prospect, And whither the projection of our thought Reaches in free flight of its own accord.

Now first of all we find that everywhere In all directions, horizontally, Below and above throughout the universe There is no limit, as I have demonstrated. Indeed the facts themselves proclaim the truth, And the deep void reveals its nature clearly. Since then on all sides vacant space extends Illimitably, and seeds in countless number And sum immeasurable flit to and fro Eternally driven on in manifold modes Of motion, we must deem it in no wise Probable that this single globe of earth And this one heaven alone have been created, While outside all those particles of matter Are doing nothing: the more so that this world Was formed by nature, as the seeds of things, Casually colliding of their own Spontaneous motion, flocked in manifold ways Together, vainly, without aim or result, Until at last such particles combined As, suddenly thrown together, might become From time to time the rudiments of great things, Earth, sea, sky, and the race of living creatures. Therefore beyond all question we are bound To admit that elsewhere other aggregates Of matter must exist, resembling this Which in its greedy embrace our aether holds. Moreover, when much matter is at hand, And space is there, nor any obstacle Nor cause of hindrance, then you may be sure Things must be forming and dissolving there. Now if there be so vast a store of seeds That the whole lifetime of all conscious beings Would fail to count them, and if likewise nature Abides the same, and so can throw together The seeds of things each into its own place, In the same manner as they were thrown together Into our world, then you must needs admit That in other regions there are other earths, And diverse stocks of men and kinds of beasts.

Besides in the whole universe there exists No one thing that is born unique, and grows Unique and sole; but it must needs belong To one class, and there must be many others Of the same kind. Consider first of all Live creatures: you will find that thus are born The mountain-ranging breeds of savage beasts, Thus the human race, thus also the dumb shoals Of scaly fish and every flying fowl. Therefore by a like reasoning you must grant That sky and earth and sun, moon, sea and all That else exists, are not unique, but rather Of number innumerable; since life's deep-fixed Boundary stone as surely awaits these, And they are of a body that has birth As much as any species here on earth Abounding in examples of its kind.

If you learn well and keep these truths in mind, Nature, forthwith enfranchised and released From her proud lords, is seen then to be acting In all things of herself spontaneously Without the interference of the gods. For by the holy breasts of those divinities, Who in calm peace are passing tranquil days Of life untroubled, who, I ask, has power To rule the sum of space immeasurable? Or who to hold in his controlling hand The strong reins of the deep? Who can at once Make all those various firmaments revolve And with the fires of aether warm each one Of all those fruitful earths, or at all times Be present in all places, so to cause Darkness by clouds, and shake the calms of heaven With thunder, to hurl lightnings, and ofttimes Shatter down his own temples, or withdraw To desert regions, there to spend his fury And exercise his bolt, which often indeed Passes the guilty by, and strikes with death The unoffending who deserve it least.

Now since the birth-time of the world, since sea And earth's first natal day and the sun's origin, Many atoms have been added from without, Many seeds from all round, which, shooting them Hither and thither, the great universe Has brought together: and by means of these Sea and land have been able to increase; Thus too the mansion of the sky has gained New spaciousness, and lifted its high roof Far above earth, and the air has risen with it. For to each thing its own appropriate atoms Are all distributed by blows from all Regions of space, so that they separate Into their proper elements. Moisture joins With moisture: earth from earthy substance grows; Fires generate fire, and ether ether, Till Nature, the creatress, consummating Her labour, has brought all things to their last Limit of growth; as happens, when at length That which is entering the veins of life Is now no more than what is flowing away And ebbing thence. In all things at this point The age of growth must halt: at this point nature Curbs increase by her powers. For all such things As you may see waxing with joyous growth, And climbing step by step to matured age Receive into themselves more particles Than they discharge, so long as food is passing Easily into all their veins, and while They are not so widely spread as to throw off Too many atoms and to cause more waste Than what their life requires for nourishment. For we must surely grant that many atoms Are flowing away from things and leaving them: But still more must be added, till at length They have attained the highest pitch of growth. Then age little by little breaks their powers And their mature strength, as it wastes away On the worse side of life. And out of doubt The bulkier and the wider a thing is, Once its growth ceases, the more particles Does it now shed around it and discharge On all sides: nor is food distributed Easily into all its veins, nor yet In quantity sufficient that therefrom A supply may continually rise up To compensate the copious emanations Which it exhales. For there is need of food To preserve all things by renewing them: Food must uphold, food sustain everything: Yet all is to no purpose, since the veins Fail to convey what should suffice, nor yet Does nature furnish all that is required. There is good reason therefore why all forms Should perish, when they are rarefied by flux Of atoms, and succumb to external blows, Since food must fail advanced age in the end, And atoms cease not ever from outside To buffet each thing till they wear it out And overpower it by beleaguering blows. In this way then it is that the walls too Of the great world from all sides shall be stormed And so collapsing crumble away to ruins. And even now already this world's age Is broken, and the worn-out earth can scarce Create the tiniest animals, she who once Created every kind, and brought to birth The huge shapes of wild beasts. For, as I think, Neither did any golden rope let down The tribes of mortal creatures from the heights Of heaven on to the fields, nor did the sea Nor its waves beating on the rocks create them, But the same earth gave birth to them, which now Feeds them from her own breast. At first moreover Herself spontaneously did she create Flourishing crops and rich vines for mankind, Herself gave them sweet fruits and joyous pastures; Which now, though aided by our toil, scarce grow To any size. Thus we wear out our oxen And the strength of our peasants: we use up Our iron tools; yet hardly do we win A sustenance from the fields, so niggardly They grudge their produce and increase our toil. And now shaking his head the aged ploughman Sighs ever and anon, when he beholds The labours of his hands all spent in vain; And when with times past he compares the present, He praises often the fortune of his sire, Harping upon that ancient race of men Who rich in piety supported life Upon their narrow plots contentedly, Seeing the land allotted to each man Was far less in those days than now. So too The planter of the worn-out shrivelled vine Disconsolately inveighs against the march Of time, wearying heaven with complaints, And understands not how all things are wasting Little by little, and passing to the grave Tired out by lengthening age and lapse of days.

Thou, who from out such darkness first could'st lift A torch so bright, illumining thereby The benefits of life, thee do I follow, O thou bright glory of the Grecian race, And in thy deepset footprints firmly now I plant my steps, not so much through desire To rival thee, rather because I love And therefore long to imitate thee: for how Should a mere swallow strive with swans; or what Might kids with tottering limbs, matched in a race, Achieve against a horse's stalwart strength? Thou, father, art discoverer of truth; Thou dost enrich us with a father's precepts; And from thy pages, glorious sage, as bees In flowery glades sip from all plants, so we Feed likewise upon all thy golden words, Golden words, ever worthy of endless life. For soon as, issuing from thy godlike mind, Thy doctrine has begun to voice abroad The nature of things, straightway the soul's terrors Take flight; the world's walls open; I behold Things being formed and changed throughout all space. Revealed is the divinity of the gods, And their serene abodes, which neither winds Buffet, nor clouds drench them with showers, nor snow Congealed by sharp frost, falling in white flakes, Violates, but an ever-cloudless sky Invests them, laughing with wide-spreading light. Moreover all their wants nature provides, And there is nothing that at any time Can minish their tranquillity of soul. But on the other hand nowhere are visible The Acherusian quarters; and yet earth In no wise can obstruct our contemplation Of all those operations that take place Beneath our feet throughout the nether void. At such thoughts there comes over me a kind Of godlike pleasure mixed with thrilling awe, That nature by thy power should be thus clearly Made manifest and unveiled on every side.

First then the mind, which we shall often call The intellect, wherein is placed the council And government of life, I assert to be No less a part of man than feet and hands And eyes are part of the whole living creature. Yet some would have it that the sense of the mind Resides in no fixed part, but deem it rather A kind of vital habit of the body, Which by the Greeks is called a harmony, Something that causes us to live with sense, Although the intellect is in no one part. Just as good health is often spoken of As though belonging to the body, and yet It is no one part of a healthy man. Thus they refuse to place the sense of the mind In one fixed part: and here to me they seem To wander far indeed astray from truth. For often the body, which is visible, Is sick, while in some other hidden part We experience pleasure; and ofttimes again The contrary will happen, when a man Who is distressed in mind, through his whole body Feels pleasure: in the same way as the foot Of a sick man may suffer pain, and yet His head meanwhile is in no pain at all. Moreover when the limbs are given up To soft sleep, and the wearied body lies Diffused without sensation, there is yet Something else in us which at that same time Is stirred in many ways, and into itself Receives all the emotions of delight, And all the empty troubles of the heart. Now, that the soul too dwells within the limbs, And that it is no harmony whereby The body is wont to feel, this main proof shows. When from the body much has been removed, Yet often life still lingers in our limbs: Whereas, when a few particles of heat Have been dispersed, and through the mouth some air Has been forced out, suddenly that same life Deserts the arteries and quits the bones: Whence you may learn that not all particles Have functions of like moment, nor alike Support existence; but that rather those Which are the seeds of wind and warming heat Are the cause that life stays within the limbs. Therefore this vital heat and wind, residing Within the body itself, is that which quits Our dying frame. So now that we have found The nature of the mind and of the soul To be a part in some sense of the man, Let us give up the name of harmony, Which was brought down from lofty Helicon To the musicians, or else they themselves, Taking it from some other source, transferred it To what was then without a name of its own. However that may be, why, let them keep it. Do you give heed to the rest of my discourse.

Therefore if you should chance to hear some man Pitying his own lot, that after death Either his body must decay in the earth, Or be consumed by flames or jaws of beasts, Then may you know that his words ring not true, That in his heart there lurks some secret sting, Though he himself deny that he believes Any sense will remain with him in death. For in fact he grants not all that he professes, Nor by the roots does he expel and thrust Self forth from life, but all unwittingly Assumes that of self something will survive. For when a living man forbodes that birds And beasts may rend his body after death, Then does he pity himself, nor can he quite Separate and withdraw from the outcast body, But fancying that that other is himself, With his own sense imagines it endued. So he complains because he was born mortal, Nor sees that there will be in real death No other self which living can lament That he has perished, none that will stand by And grieve over his burnt and mangled corpse. For if it be an evil after death To be mauled by teeth of beasts, why should it seem Less cruel to be laid out on a pyre And scorched with hot flames, or to be embalmed In stifling honey, or to lie stiff and cold Couched on the cool slab of a chilly stone, Or to be crushed down under a weight of earth?

"Now no more shall thy home, nor thy chaste wife Receive thee in gladness, nor shall thy sweet children Run forth to meet thee and snatch kisses from thee, And touch thee to the heart with silent joy. No more canst thou be prosperous in thy doings, A bulwark to thy friends. Poor wretch!" men cry, "How wretchedly has one disastrous day Stript thee of all life's many benefits!" Yet this withal they add not: "Nor henceforth Does craving for these things beset thee more." This truth, could men but grasp it once in thought And follow thought with words, would forthwith set Their spirits free from a huge ache and dread. "Thou, as thou art, sunk in the sleep of death, Shalt so continue through all time to come, Delivered from all feverish miseries: But we who watched thee on thy dreadful pyre Change into ashes, we insatiably Bewept thee; nor shall any lapse of days Remove that lifelong sorrow from our hearts." Of him who spoke thus, well might we inquire, What grief so exceeding bitter is there here, If in the end all comes to sleep and rest, That one should therefore pine with lifelong misery.

This too is oft men's wont, when they lie feasting Wine-cup in hand with garland-shaded brows: Thus from the heart they speak: "Brief is life's joy For poor frail men. Soon will it be no more, Nor ever afterwards may it be called back." As though a foremost evil to be feared After their death were this, that parching thirst Would burn and scorch them in their misery, Or craving for aught else would then beset them. No, for none feels the want of self and life, When mind and body are sunk in sleep together. For all we care, such sleep might be eternal: No craving for ourselves moves us at all. And yet, when starting up from sleep a man Collects himself, then the atoms of his soul Throughout his frame cannot be wandering far From their sense-stirring motions. Therefore death Must needs be thought far less to us than sleep, If less can be than what we see is nothing. For the dispersion of the crowded atoms, That comes with death, is greater; nor has ever Anyone yet awakened, upon whom Has once fallen the chill arrest of death.

Moreover all those things which people say Are found in Acheron's gulf, assuredly Exist for us in life. No wretched Tantalus, Numbed by vain terror, quakes, as the tale tells, Beneath a huge rock hanging in the air; But in life rather an empty fear of gods Oppresses mortals; and the fall they dread Is fortune's fall, which chance may bring to each. Nor verily entering the large breast of Tityos, As he lies stretched in Acheron, do vultures Find food there for their beaks perpetually. How vast soever his body's bulk extends, Though not nine acres merely with outspread limbs He cover, but the round of the whole earth, Yet would he not be able to endure Eternal pain, nor out of his whole body For ever provide food. But here for us He is a Tityos, whom, while he lies In bonds of love, fretful anxieties Devour like rending birds of prey, or cares, Sprung from some other craving, lacerate. A living Sisyphus also we behold In him who from the people fain would beg The rods and cruel axes, and each time Defeated and disconsolate must retire. For to beg power, which, empty as it is, Is never given, and in pursuit thereof To endure grievous toil continually, Is but to thrust uphill mightily straining A stone, which from the summit after all Rolls bounding back down to the level plain. Moreover to be feeding evermore The thankless nature of the mind, yet never To fill it full and sate it with good things, As do the seasons for us, when each year They return bringing fruits and varied charms, Yet never are we filled with life's delights, This surely is what is told of those young brides, Who must pour water into a punctured vessel, Though they can have no hope to fill it full. Cerberus and the Furies in like manner Are fables, and that world deprived of day Where from its throat Tartarus belches forth Horrible flames: which things in truth are not, Nor can be anywhere. But there is in life A dread of punishment for things ill done, Terrible as the deeds are terrible; And to expiate men's guilt there is the dungeon, The awful hurling downward from the rock, Scourgings, mutilations and impalings, The pitch, the torches and the metal plate. And even if these be wanting, yet the mind Conscious of guilt torments itself with goads And scorching whips, nor in its boding fear Perceives what end of misery there can be, Nor what limit at length to punishment, Nay fears lest these same evils after death Should prove more grievous. Thus does the life of fools Become at last an Acheron here on earth.

This too thou may'st say sometimes to thyself: "Even the good king Ancus closed his eyes To the light of day, who was so many times Worthier than thou, unconscionable man. And since then many others who bore rule O'er mighty nations, princes and potentates, Have perished: and he too, even he, who once Across the great sea paved a path whereby His legions might pass over, bidding them Cross dry-shod the salt deeps, and to show scorn Trampled upon the roarings of the waves With horses, even he, bereft of light, Forth from his dying body gasped his soul. The Scipios' offspring, thunderbolt of war, Terror of Carthage, gave his bones to the earth, As though he were the meanest household slave. Consider too the inventors of wise thoughts And arts that charm, consider the companions Of the Heliconian Maidens, among whom Homer still bears the sceptre without peer; Yet he now sleeps the same sleep as they all. Likewise Democritus, when a ripe old age Had warned him that the memory-stirring motions Were waning in his mind, by his own act Willingly offered up his head to death. Even Epicurus died, when his life's light Had run its course, he who in intellect Surpassed the race of men, quenching the glory Of all else, as the sun in heaven arising Quenches the stars. Then wilt thou hesitate And feel aggrieved to die? thou for whom life Is well nigh dead, whilst yet thou art alive And lookest on the light; thou who dost waste Most of thy time in sleep, and waking snorest, Nor ceasest to see dreams; who hast a mind Troubled with empty terror, and ofttimes Canst not discover what it is that ails thee, When, poor besotted wretch, from every side Cares crowd upon thee, and thou goest astray Drifting in blind perplexity of soul."

BOOK IV, lines 962-1287

Consider too how they consume their strength And are worn out with toiling; and consider How at another's beck their life is passed. Meantime their substance vanishes and is changed To Babylonian stuffs; their duties languish; Their reputation totters and grows sick. While at her lover's cost she anoints herself With precious unguents, and upon her feet Beautiful Sicyonian slippers laugh. Then doubtless she has set for her in gold Big green-lit emeralds; and the sea-purple dress, Worn out by constant use, imbibes the sweat Of love's encounters. The wealth which their fathers Had nobly gathered, becomes hair-ribbons And head-dresses, or else may be is turned Into a long Greek gown, or stuffs of Alinda And Ceos. Feasts with goodly broideries And viands are prepared, games, numerous cups, Unguents, crowns and festoons; but all in vain; Since from the well-spring of delights some touch Of bitter rises, to give pain amidst The very flowers; either when the mind Perchance grows conscience-stricken, and remorse Gnaws it, thus to be spending a life of sloth, And ruining itself in wanton haunts; Or else because she has launched forth some word And left its sense in doubt, some word that clings To the hungry heart, and quickens there like fire; Or that he fancies she is casting round Her eyes too freely, or looks upon some other, And on her face sees traces of a smile.

When love is permanent and fully prosperous, These evils are experienced; but if love Be crossed and hopeless, there are evils such That you might apprehend them with closed eyes, Beyond numbering; so that it is wiser, As I have taught you, to be vigilant Beforehand, and watch well lest you be snared. For to avoid being tripped up in love's toils Is not so difficult as, once you are caught, To issue from the nets and to break through The strong meshes of Venus. None the less Even when you are tangled and involved, You may escape the peril, unless you stand In your own way, and always overlook Every defect whether of mind or body In her whom you pursue and long to win. For this is how men generally behave Blinded by lust, and assign to those they love Good qualities which are not truly theirs. So we see women in various ways misformed And ugly, to be fondly loved and held In highest favour. And a man will mock His fellows, urging them to placate Venus, Because they are troubled by a degrading love, Yet often the poor fool will have no eyes For his own far worse plight. The tawny is called A honey brown; the filthy and unclean, Reckless of order; the green-eyed, a Pallas; The sinewy and angular, a gazelle; The tiny and dwarfish is a very Grace, Nothing but sparkle; the monstrous and ungainly, A marvel, and composed of majesty. She stammers, cannot talk, why then she lisps; The mute is bashful; but the fiery-tongued Malicious gossip becomes a brilliant torch. One is a slender darling, when she scarce Can live for lack of flesh; and one half dead With cough, is merely frail and delicate. Then the fat and full-bosomed is Ceres' self Suckling Iacchus; the snub-nosed, a female Silenus, or a Satyress; the thick-lipped, A kiss incarnate. But more of this sort It were a tedious labour to recite. Yet be she noble of feature as you will, And let the might of Venus emanate From every limb; still there are others too; Still we have lived without her until now; Still she does, and we know she does, the same In all things as the ugly, and, poor wretch, Perfumes herself with evil-smelling scents, While her maids run and hide to giggle in secret. But the excluded lover many a time With flowers and garlands covers tearfully The threshold, and anoints the haughty posts With oil of marjoram, and imprints, poor man, Kisses upon the doors. Yet when at last He has been admitted, if but a single breath Should meet him as he enters, he would seek Specious excuses to be gone, and so The long-studied, deep-drawn complaint would fall To the ground, and he would then convict himself Of folly, now he sees he had attributed More to her than is right to grant a mortal. Nor to our Venuses is this unknown: Wherefore the more are they at pains to hide All that takes place behind the scenes of life From those they would keep fettered in love's chains But all in vain, since in imagination You yet may draw forth all these things to light, Discovering every cause for ridicule: And if she be of a mind that still can charm, And not malicious, you may in your turn Overlook faults and pardon human frailty.

Nor always with feigned love does the woman sigh, When with her own uniting the man's body She holds him clasped, with moistened kisses sucking His lips into her lips. Nay, from the heart She often does it, and seeking mutual joys Woos him to run to the utmost goal of love. And nowise else could birds, cattle, wild beasts, And sheep and mares submit to males, except That their exuberant nature is in heat, And burning draws towards them joyously The lust of the covering mates. See you not also That those whom mutual pleasure has enchained Are often tormented in their common chains? How often on the highroads dogs desiring To separate, will strain in opposite ways Eagerly with all their might, yet the whole time They are held fast in the strong bonds of Venus! Thus they would never act, unless they had Experience of mutual joys, enough To thrust them into the snare and hold them bound. Therefore I assert, the pleasure must be common.

Often when, mingling her seed with the man's, The woman with sudden force has overwhelmed And mastered the man's force, then children are borne Like to the mother from the mother's seed, As from the father's seed like to the father. But those whom you see sharing the form of both, Mingling their parents' features side by side, Grow from the father's body and mother's blood, When mutual ardour has conspired to fling The seeds together, roused by the goads of Venus Throughout the frame, and neither of the two Has gained the mastery nor yet been mastered. Moreover sometimes children may be born Like their grandparents, and will often recall The forms of their remoter ancestors, Because the parents often hold concealed Within their bodies many primal atoms Mingled in many ways, which, handed down From the first stock, father transmits to father. And out of these Venus produces forms With ever-varying chances, and recalls The look and voice and hair of ancestors: Since truly these things are no more derived From a determined seed, than are our faces Bodies and limbs. Also the female sex May spring from a father's seed, and males come forth Formed from a mother's body: for the birth Is always fashioned out of the two seeds. Whichever of the two that which is born Is most like, of that parent it will have More than an equal share; as you may observe, Whether it be a male or female offspring.

Sometimes, by no divine interposition Nor through the shafts of Venus, a plain woman, Though of inferior beauty, may be loved. For sometimes she herself by her behaviour, Her gentle ways and personal daintiness Will easily accustom you to spend Your whole life with her. And indeed 'tis custom That harmonises love. For what is struck However lightly by repeated blows, Yet after a long lapse of time is conquered And must dissolve. Do you not likewise see That drops of water falling upon stones After long lapse of time will pierce them through?

BOOK V

Who is there that by energy of mind Could build a poem worthy of our theme's Majesty and of these discoveries? Or who has such a mastery of words As to devise praises proportionate To his deserts, who to us has bequeathed Such prizes, earned by his own intellect? No man, I think, formed of a mortal body. For if we are to speak as the acknowledged Majesty of our theme demands, a god Was he, most noble Memmius, a god, Who first found out that discipline of life Which now is called philosophy, and whose skill From such great billows and a gloom so dark Delivered life, and steered it into a calm So peaceful and beneath so bright a light. For compare the divine discoveries Of others in old times. 'Tis told that Ceres First revealed corn to men, Liber the juice Of grape-born wine; though life without these things Might well have been sustained; and even now 'Tis said there are some people that live so. But to live happily was not possible Without a serene mind. Therefore more justly Is this man deemed by us a god, from whom Came those sweet solaces of life, which now Already through great nations spread abroad Have power to soothe men's minds. Should you suppose Moreover that the deeds of Hercules Surpass his, then yet further will you drift Out of true reason's course. For what harm now Would those great gaping jaws of Nemea's lion Do to us, and the bristly Arcadian boar? What could the bull of Crete, or Lerna's pest The Hydra fenced around with venomous snakes, And threefold Gerion's triple-breasted might, Or those brazen-plumed birds inhabiting Stymphalian swamps, what injury so great Could they inflict upon us, or the steeds Of Thracian Diomede, with fire-breathing nostrils Ranging Bistonia's wilds and Ismarus? Also the serpent, guardian of the bright Gold-gleaming apples of the Hesperides, Fierce and grim-glancing, with huge body coiled Round the tree's stem, how were it possible He could molest us by the Atlantic shore And those lone seas, where none of us sets foot, And no barbarian ventures to draw near? And all those other monsters which likewise Have been destroyed, if they had not been vanquished, What harm, pray, could they do, though now alive? None, I presume: for the earth even now abounds With wild beasts to repletion, and is filled With shuddering terror throughout its woods, great mountains And deep forests, regions which we have power For the most part to avoid. But if the heart Has not been purged, what tumults then, what dangers Must needs invade us in our own despite! What fierce anxieties, offspring of desire, Rend the distracted man, what mastering fears! Pride also, sordid avarice, and violence, Of what calamities are not they the cause! Luxury too, and slothfulness! He therefore Who could subdue all these, and banish them Out of our minds by force of words, not arms, Is it not right we should deem such a man Worthy to be numbered among the gods? The more that he was wont in beautiful And godlike speech to utter many truths About the immortal gods themselves, and set The whole nature of things in clear words forth.

But now, lest I detain you with more promises, In the first place consider, Memmius, The seas, the land, the sky, whose threefold nature, Three bodies, three forms so dissimilar, And three such wondrous textures, a single day Shall give to destruction, and the world's vast mass And fabric, for so many years upheld, Shall fall to ruin. Nor am I unaware How novel and strange, when first it strikes the mind, Must appear this destruction of earth and heaven That is to be, and for myself how difficult It will prove to convince you by mere words, As happens when one brings to a man's ears Some notion unfamiliar hitherto, If yet one cannot thrust it visibly Beneath his eyes, or place it in his hands; For the paved highway of belief through touch And sight leads straightest into the human heart And the precincts of the mind. Yet none the less I will speak out. Reality itself It may be will bring credence to my words, And in a little while you will behold The earth terribly quaking, and all things Shattered to ruins. But may pilot fortune Steer far from us such disaster, and may reason Convince us rather than reality That the whole universe may well collapse, Tumbling together with a dread crash and roar.

But before I attempt concerning this To announce fate's oracles in more holy wise, And with assurance far more rational Than doth the Pythoness, when from the tripod And laurel wreath of Phoebus her voice sounds, Many consolatories will I first Expound to you in learned words, lest haply Curbed by religion's bit you should suppose That earth and sun and sky, sea, stars and moon, Their substance being divine, must needs abide Eternally, and should therefore think it just That all, after the manner of the giants, Should suffer penance for their monstrous guilt Who by their reasoning shake the world's firm walls, And fain would quench the glorious sun in heaven, Shaming with mortal speech immortal things; Though in fact such objects are so far removed From any share in divine energy, And so unworthy to be accounted gods, That they may be considered with more reason To afford us the conception of what is quite Devoid of vital motion and of sense. For truly by no means can we suppose That the nature and judgment of the mind Can exist linked with every kind of body, Even as in the sky trees cannot exist, Nor clouds in the salt waters, nor can fish Live in the fields, neither can blood be found In wood, nor sap in stones: but where each thing Can dwell and grow, is determined and ordained. Even so the nature of mind cannot be born Alone without a body, nor exist Separated from sinews and from blood. But if The mind's force might reside within the head Or shoulders, or be born down in the heels, Or in any part you will, it would at least Inhabit the same man and the same vessel. But since even in our body it is seen To be determined and ordained where soul And mind can separately dwell and grow, All the more must it be denied that mind Cannot have being quite outside a body And a living form, in crumbling clods of earth, In the sun's fire, or water, or aloft In the domains of ether. Such things therefore Are not endowed with divine consciousness, Because they cannot be quickened into life.

First of all, since the substance of the earth, Moisture, and the light breathings of the air, And burning heats, of which this sum of things Is seen to be composed, have all been formed Of a body that was born and that will die, Of such a body must we likewise deem That the whole nature of the world was made. For things whose parts and members we see formed Of a body that had birth and shapes that die, These we perceive are themselves always mortal, And likewise have been born. Since then we see That the chief parts and members of the world Decay and are reborn, it is no less certain That once for heaven and earth there was a time Of origin, and will be of destruction.

Next, that the sea, the rivers and the springs Are always amply fed by new supplies Of moisture oozing up perennially, It needs no words to explain. The vast down-flow Of waters from all sides is proof of this. But as the water that is uppermost Is always taken away, it comes to pass That on the whole there is no overflow; Partly because strong winds, sweeping the seas, Diminish them, and the sun in heaven unweaves Their fabric with his rays; partly because The water is distributed below Throughout all lands. For the salt is strained off, And the pure fluid matter, oozing back, Gathers together at the river-heads, Thence in fresh current streams over the land, Wherever it finds a channel ready scooped To carry down its waves with liquid foot.

Now must I speak of air, which every hour Is changed through its whole body in countless ways. For always whatsoever flows from things Is all borne into the vast sea of air: And if it were not in its turn to give Particles back to things, recruiting them As they dissolve, all would have been long since Disintegrated, and so changed to air. Therefore it never ceases to be born Out of things, and to pass back into things, Since, as we know, all are in constant flux.

Moreover, if there never was a time Of origin when earth and heaven were born, If they have always been from everlasting, Why then before the Theban war and Troy's Destruction, have not other poets sung Of other deeds as well? Whither have vanished So many exploits of so many men? Why are they nowhere blossoming engrafted On the eternal monuments of fame? But in truth, as I think, this sum of things Is in its youth: the nature of the world Is recent, and began not long ago. Wherefore even now some arts are being wrought To their last polish, some are still in growth. Of late many improvements have been made In navigation, and musicians too Have given birth to new melodious sounds. Also this theory of the nature of things Has been discovered lately, and I myself Have only now been found the very first Able to turn it into our native words. Nevertheless, if you perchance believe That long ago these things were just the same, But that the generations of mankind Perished by scorching heat, or that their cities Fell in some great convulsion of the world, Or else that flooded by incessant rains Devouring rivers broke forth over the earth And swallowed up whole towns, so much the more Must you admit that there will come to pass A like destruction of earth and heaven too. For when things were assailed by such great maladies And dangers, if some yet more fatal cause Had whelmed them, they would then have been dissolved In havoc and vast ruin far and wide. And in no other way do we perceive That we are mortal, save that we all alike In turn fall sick of the same maladies As those whom Nature has withdrawn from life.

Again, whatever things abide eternally, Must either, because they are of solid body, Repulse assaults, nor suffer anything To penetrate them, which might have the power To disunite the close-locked parts within: or else They must be able to endure throughout All time, because they are exempt from blows, As void is, which abides untouched, nor suffers One whit from any stroke: or else because There is no further space surrounding them, Into which things might as it were depart And be dissolved; even as the sum of sums Is eternal, nor is there any space Outside it, into which its particles Might spring asunder, nor are there other bodies That could strike and dissolve them with strong blows. But neither, as I have shown, is this world's nature Solid, since there is void mixed up in things; Nor yet is it like void; nor verily Are atoms lacking that might well collect Out of the infinite, and overwhelm This sum of things with violent hurricane, Or threaten it with some other form of ruin; Nor further is there any want of room And of deep space, into which the world's walls Might be dispersed abroad; or they may perish Shattered by any other force you will. Therefore the gates of death are never closed Against sky, sun or earth, or the deep seas; But they stand open, awaiting them with huge Vast-gaping jaws. So you must needs admit That all these likewise once were born: for things Of mortal body could not until now Through infinite past ages have defied The strong powers of immeasurable time.

But in what ways matter converging once Established earth and heaven and the sea's deeps, The sun's course and the moon's, I will set forth In order. For in truth not by design Did the primordial particles of things Arrange themselves each in its own right place With provident mind, nor verily have they bargained What motions each should follow; but because These primal atoms in such multitudes And in so many ways through infinite time Impelled by blows and moved by their own weight, Have been borne onward so incessantly, Uniting in every way and making trial Of every shape they could combine to form, Therefore it is that after wandering wide Through vast periods, attempting every kind Of union and of motion, they at last Collect into such groups as, suddenly Flocking together, oftentimes become The rudiments of mighty things, of earth, Sea and sky, and the race of living creatures.

At that time neither could the disk of the sun Be seen flying aloft with bounteous light, Nor the stars of great heaven, nor sea, nor sky, Nor yet earth nor the air, nor anything Resembling those things which we now behold, But only a sort of strange tempest, a mass Gathered together out of primal atoms Of all kinds, which discordantly waged war Disordering so their interspaces, paths, Connections, weights, collisions, meetings, motions, Since with their unlike forms and varied shapes, They could not therefore all remain united, Nor move among themselves harmoniously. Thereupon parts began to fly asunder, And like things to unite with like, and so To separate off the world, and to divide Its members, portioning out its mighty parts; That is, to mark off the high heaven from earth, And the sea by itself, that it might spread With unmixed waters, and likewise the fires Of aether by themselves, pure and unmixed.

Thus then the earth's ponderous mass was formed With close-packed body, and all the slime of the world Slid to the lowest plane by its own weight, And at the bottom settled down like dregs. Then the sea, then the air, then the fire-laden Aether itself, all these were now left pure With liquid bodies. Some indeed are lighter Than others, and most liquid and light of all Over the airy currents aether floats, Not blending with the turbulent atmosphere Its liquid substance. All below, it suffers To be embroiled by violent hurricanes, Suffers all to be tossed with wayward storms, While itself gliding on with changeless sweep Bears its own fires along. For, that the aether May stream on steadily with one impulse, The Pontos demonstrates, that sea which streams With an unchanging tide, unceasingly Preserving as it glides one constant pace.

Now let us sing what cause could set the stars In motion. First, if the great globe of heaven Revolves, then we must needs maintain that air Presses upon the axis at each end, And holds it from outside, closing it in At both poles; also that there streams above Another current, moving the same way, In which the stars of the eternal world Roll glittering onward; or else that beneath There is another stream, that drives the sphere Upwards the opposite way, just as we see Rivers turn mill-wheels with their water-scoops. It likewise may well be that the whole sky Remains at rest, yet that the shining signs Are carried onwards; either because within them Are shut swift tides of aether, that whirl round Seeking a way out, and so roll their fires On all sides through the sky's nocturnal mansions; Or else that from some other source outside An air-stream whirls and drives the fires along; Or else they may be gliding of themselves, Moving whithersoever the food of each Calls and invites them, nourishing everywhere Their flaming bodies throughout the whole sky. For it is hard to affirm with certainty Which of these causes operates in this world: But what throughout the universe both can And does take place in various worlds, created On various plans, this I teach, and proceed To expound what divers causes may exist Through the universe for the motion of the stars: And one of these in our world too must be The cause which to the heavenly signs imparts Their motive vigour: but dogmatically To assert which this may be, is in no wise The function of those advancing step by step.

Now in order that the earth should be at rest In the world's midst, it would seem probable That its weight gradually diminishing Should disappear, and that the earth should have Another nature underneath, conjoined And blent in union from its earliest age With those aerial portions of the world Wherein it lives embodied. For this cause It is no burden, nor weighs down the air, Just as to a man his own limbs are no weight, Nor is the head a burden to the neck, Nor do we feel that the whole body's weight Rests on the feet: yet a much smaller burden Laid on us from outside, will often hurt us. Of such great moment is it what each thing's Function may be. Thus then the earth is not An alien body intruded suddenly, Nor thrust from elsewhere into an alien air, But was conceived together with the world At its first birth as a fixed portion of it, Just as our limbs are seen to be of us. Moreover the earth, when shaken suddenly With violent thunder, by its trembling shakes All that is over it; which in no wise Could happen, if it were not closely bound With the world's airy parts, and with the sky. For they all, as though by common roots, cohere One with another, from their earliest age Conjoined and blent in union. See you not too That heavy as our body's weight may be, Yet the soul's force, though subtle exceedingly, Sustains it, being so closely joined and blent In union with it? Also what has power To lift the body with a nimble leap, Except the mind's force that controls the limbs? Do you not now perceive how great the power May be of a subtle nature, when 'tis joined With a heavy body, even as with the earth The air is joined, and the mind's force with us?

Also the sun's disk cannot be much larger, Nor its heat be much less, than to our sense They appear to be. For from whatever distance Fires can fling light, and breathe upon our limbs Their warming heat, these intervening spaces Take away nothing from the body of flame; The fire is not shrunken visibly. So since the sun's heat and the light it sheds Both reach our senses and caress our limbs, The form also and contour of the sun Must needs be seen from the earth in their true scale, With neither addition nor diminishment. Also the moon, whether it moves along Illuminating earth with borrowed light, Or throws out its own rays from its own body, Howe'er that be, moves with a shape no larger Than seems that shape which our eyes contemplate. For all things which we look at from far off Through much air, seem to our vision to grow dim Before their contours lessen. Therefore the moon, Seeing that it presents a clear aspect And definite shape, must needs by us on earth Be seen on high in its defining outline Just as it is, and of its actual size. Lastly consider all those fires of aether You see from the earth. Since fires, which here below We observe, for so long as their flickering Remains distinct, and their heat is perceived, Are sometimes seen to change their size to less Or greater to some very slight extent According to their distance, you may thence Know that the fires of aether can be smaller Only by infinitesimal degrees, Or larger by the tiniest minute fraction.

Likewise at a fixed time Matuta spreads The rosy dawn abroad through the sky's borders, And opens out her light; either because The same sun, travelling back below the earth, Seizes the sky beforehand, and is fain To kindle it with his rays; or else because Fires meet together, and many seeds of heat Are wont at a fixed time to stream together Causing new sunlight each day to be born. Even so 'tis told that from the mountain heights Of Ida at daybreak scattered fires are seen; These then unite as if into one globe And make up the sun's orb. Nor yet herein Should it cause wonder that these seeds of fire Can stream together at a time so fixed, Repairing thus the radiance of the sun. For everywhere we see many events Happening at fixed times. Thus trees both flower And shed their blossoms at fixed times; and age At a time no less fixed bids the teeth drop, And the boy clothe his features with the down Of puberty, and let a soft beard fall From either cheek. Lastly lightning and snow, Rains, clouds and winds happen at more or less Regular yearly seasons. For where causes From the beginning have remained the same, And things from the first origin of the world Have so fallen out, they still repeat themselves In regular sequence after a fixed order.

Likewise the occultations of the sun And the moon's vanishings you must suppose May be produced by many different causes. For why should the moon be able to shut out The earth from the sun's light, and lift her head On high to obstruct him from the earthward side, Blocking his fiery beams with her dark orb, And yet at the same time some other body Gliding on without light continually Should be supposed unable to do this? Why too should not the sun at a fixed time Grow faint and lose his fires, and then again Revive his light, when he has had to pass Through tracts of air so hostile to his flames That awhile his fires are quenched by them and perish? And why should the earth have power in turn to rob The moon of light, and likewise keep the sun Suppressed, while in her monthly course the moon Glides through the clear-cut shadows of the cone, And yet at the same time some other body Should not have power to pass under the moon, Or glide above the sun's orb, breaking off The beams of light he sheds? And furthermore, If the moon shines with her own radiance, Why in a certain region of the world Might she not grow faint, while she makes her way Through tracts that are unfriendly to her light?

Now since I have demonstrated how each thing Might come to pass throughout the azure spaces Of the great heaven, how we may know what force Can cause the varying motions of the sun, And wanderings of the moon, and in what way Their light being intercepted they might vanish Covering with darkness the astonished earth, When as it were they close their eye of light, And opening it again, survey all places Radiant with shining brightness,--therefore now I will go back to the world's infancy And the tender age of the world's fields, and show What in their first fecundity they resolved To raise into the borders of the light And give in charge unto the wayward winds.

In the beginning the Earth brought forth all kinds Of plants and growing verdure on hillsides And over all the plains: the flowering meadows Shone with green colour: next to the various trees Was given a mighty emulous impulse To shoot up into the air with unchecked growth. As feathers, hairs and bristles first are born On limbs of quadrupeds and on the bodies Of winged fowl, so the new Earth then put forth Grasses and brushwood first, and afterwards Gave birth to all the breeds of mortal things, That sprang up many in number, in many modes And divers fashions. For no animals Can have dropped from the sky, nor can land-creatures Have issued from the salt pools. Hence it is That with good reason the Earth has won the name Of Mother, since from the Earth all things are born. And many living creatures even now Rise from the soil, formed by rains, and the sun's Fierce heat. Therefore the less strange it appears If then they arose more numerous and more large Fostered by a new earth and atmosphere. So first of all the varied families And tribes of birds would leave their eggs, hatched out In the spring season, as now the cicadas In summer-time leave of their own accord Their filmy skins in search of food and life. Then was the time when first the Earth produced The race of mortal men. For in the fields Plenteous heat and moisture would abound, So that wherever a fit place occurred, Wombs would grow, fastened to the earth by roots: And when the warmth of the infants in due time, Avoiding moisture and demanding air, Had broken these wombs open, then would Nature Turn to that place the porous ducts of the Earth, Compelling it to exude through open veins A milk-like liquid, just as nowadays After child-bearing every woman is filled With sweet milk; for with her too the whole flow Of nutriment sets streaming towards her breasts. Earth to these children furnished food, the heat Clothing, the grass a bed, well lined with rich Luxuriance of soft down. Moreover then The world in its fresh newness would give rise Neither to rigorous cold nor extreme heat, Nor violent storms of wind, for in a like Proportion all things grow and gather strength.

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