On the Nature of the Universe (Oxford World’s Classics) Page 26
Before the foul and evil event occurred.
Indeed it would be wiser to maintain
That this happened somewhere in the universe,
Somewhere among the many different worlds
Created in so many different ways,
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Than to credit it to any particular globe.
They did this not in hope of victory
But to dismay their enemies (and perish themselves),
Mistrustful of their numbers and lacking in arms.
The plaited garment came before woven cloth.
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And cloth comes after iron, since iron is needed
To make the loom: only iron can give the smoothness
Needed for treadles and spindles and shuttles and clattering leash-rods.
Nature ordained that this should be men’s work
Before it was women’s (for the male sex as a whole
Is much more skilled than women and more clever)
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Until the farm-folk called it a disgrace.
So men preferred to leave it to women’s hands
And join themselves with others in hard toil
And by hard labour hardened limbs and hands.
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A model for sowing and for grafting plants
Nature herself the great creatress formed.
Berries and acorns fallen beneath the trees
Sent up in season due a swarm of shoots.
From this they learnt too to graft slips in branches
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And plant young tender saplings in the fields.
Next, different types of husbandry they tried
One after another in their cherished plots,
And saw wild fruits grow tame in the sweet soil
With loving care and gentle humouring.
And day by day they made the woods retreat
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Ever higher up the hills, surrendering
The place below to tilth, to make for them
Meadows and crops, pools, streams, and smiling vineyards
O’er hills and plains, and running in between
The grey-green olives marking out the land,
O’er hills and valleys and across the plains;
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As now we see the countryside laid out
In charming patterns, studded and adorned
With luscious orchards everywhere, and full
Of fertile woods and groves enclosing them.
To imitate the liquid notes of birds
With mouth and lips came long before men learnt
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To charm the ears by singing tuneful songs.
And zephyrs whistling through the hollow reeds
First taught the country-folk to blow through pipes.
Then gradually they learnt the sweet laments
The flute pours out pressed by a player’s fingers,
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Through pathless woods and glades and forests sounding
And shepherds’ lonely haunts beneath the sky.
These melodies would soothe and cheer their hearts
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When they had had their fill of food; for then
All things go well and please the minds of men.
So often, lying in company together
On the soft grass beside a flowing stream
Beneath a tall tree’s shade, at little cost
They found sweet rustic pleasure; most of all
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When weather smiled and the season of the year
Painted the meadows and green lanes with flowers.
Then jests and talk and happy bursts of laughter
Were there, and the rustic muse was in her prime.
And then in joyful sport their heads and shoulders
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They crowned with garlands, of leaves and flowers woven,
And danced, all out of step, with clumsy limbs,
And stamped with clumsy feet on mother earth.
What mirth was there, what peals of happy laughter!
For these things then were new and wonderful
And flourished in the charm of novelty.
And when at night they watched, bereft of sleep,
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Their solace was to raise the tuneful voice
In song, with many a varied melody,
And run the curving lip along the reeds;
So watchmen now this old tradition keep,
Learning to play in tune; and not one whit
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Of greater pleasure do they get from it
Than those old earth-born woodland people got.
For what we have, unless we have seen before
Something more lovely, pleases most of all,
And seems the best; till afterwards some new
And better thing is found which spoils and mars
What was before, and blunts the taste for it.
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So acorns fell from favour. So the beds
Of piled up leaves and herbage were abandoned.
So wild beasts’ skins for clothing were despised.
And yet this form of dress when first discovered
Was I think so much envied that the wearer
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Was murdered for it, and then the coat of skins
Was torn to pieces by men fighting for it
And stained with blood and lost, no use at all.
So skins in those days, gold and purple now,
Distract men’s lives and weary them with war.
And blame for this I think lies in ourselves.
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For lacking skins the naked sons of earth
Were tortured by the cold; but we no harm
Can suffer from a lack of purple robes
With stars of gold emblazoned, so we have
Some commonplace attire to cover us.
Therefore always in vain and uselessly
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Men labour, and waste their days in empty cares,
Because they fail to see what bounds are set
To getting, and what limits to true pleasure.
And gradually this evil discontent
Has carried life quite out to sea, and from
The depths has roused the mighty tides of war.
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But sun and moon the watchmen of the world
Circling with light the vast rotating vault
Have taught men well that seasons of the year
Revolve, and that in all things is established
A pattern and order fixed which governs them.
Men lived already fenced in with strong towers,
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And a land split up and parcelled out,
And ships with flying sails bedecked the sea,
And they had friends and allies bound by treaties,
And poets began to celebrate in verse
The mighty deeds of old; but letters then
Had been not long discovered. Therefore our age
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Cannot look back to see those early things
Except where reason may point out the traces.
Seafaring and farming, city walls, and laws
And arms, roads, clothing, and all such other things,
All the rewards, all the delights of life,
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Songs, pictures, statues curiously wrought,
All these they learnt by practice gradually
And by experiments of eager minds
As step by step they made their forward way.
So each thing in its turn by slow degrees
Time doth bring forward to the lives of men,
And reason lifts it to the light of day.
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For as one concept followed on another
Men saw it form and brighten in their minds
Till by their arts they scaled the highest peak.
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BOOK SIX
Athens of glorious name in former days
First brought corn-bearing crops to suffering mortals,
Brought them new life, established laws for them,
And Athens first sweet solace gave to life
When she brought forth a man of genius
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Who from his lips revealed the truth of things.
His glory, though he be dead, from ancient times
For his divine discoveries so far renowned,
Is even now exalted to the skies.
For when he saw that nearly all those things
Which need demands for living were enjoyed
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By mortal men, their life established safe
So far as might be, and when he saw them flourish
With all that wealth and praise and honour bring,
And glorying in the fair fame of their sons,
And saw no less that deep in every home
Were aching hearts and torments of the mind
All hapless, self-inflicted without pause,
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And sorrows breeding furious laments,
He understood then that the vessel itself
Produced the flaw, and by this flaw corrupted
All that came into it however lovely.
He saw that it must leak, being riddled with holes,
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And so could not by any means be filled.
He saw that, as it were with a noisome flavour,
It tainted everything that entered it.
Therefore with words of truth he purged men’s hearts
And set a limit to desire and fear.
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He showed the nature of that highest good
For which all mankind strives, and showed the way,
The strait and narrow path which leads to it
If we go forward with unswerving steps.
He showed the evil in the lives of men
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Flying far and wide, caused either by natural chance
Or else by force, as nature so ordained.
He showed the sally-ports within the walls
From which each different attack could best be met.
He proved that mankind mostly without cause
Stirred up sad waves of care within their breasts.
For we, like children frightened of the dark,
Are sometimes frightened in the light—of things
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No more to be feared than fears that in the dark
Distress a child, thinking they may come true.
Therefore this terror and darkness of the mind
Not by the sun’s rays, nor the bright shafts of day,
Must be dispersed, as is most necessary,
But by the face of nature and her laws.
So all the more I press on to complete
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The woven fabric of my argument.
I have shown that all the realms of the universe
Are mortal, and that the substance of the heavens
Had birth; and I have explained most of those things
That in the heavens occur and must occur.
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Please listen now to what remains to tell.
Since I have dared to mount the Muses’ glorious chariot,
I will now tell how storms of wind arise,
And then are calmed again, so that all things
Return to what they were, all fury spent;
And all those other things in earth and sky
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Which men observe, and tremble, wondering,
Their hearts laid low through fear of gods, oppressed,
Crushed down to earth, because their ignorance
Of causes makes them yield to power divine
Kingdom and Empire over all that is.
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For men who have been well taught about the gods
That they live free from care, may wonder still
By what design the world goes on, not least
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Those things they see in heaven above their heads;
And then to the old religions back they turn,
And cleave to cruel masters whom they think,
Unhappy fools, to be all-powerful,
Not knowing what can be and what cannot,
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Not knowing in a word how everything
Has finite power and deep-set boundary stone.
So all the more by blindness of the mind
They are driven astray, and wander in the dark.
Unless you spew these notions from your mind
And banish far away from you all thoughts
Unworthy of the gods and alien to their peace,
These holy powers, objects of your insults,
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Will often do you mischief. Not because
The majesty of the eternal gods
Can suffer injury, so that in wrath they seek
To wreak revenge. No. You yourself will picture
Those quiet beings in their untroubled peace
As tossed by violent waves of wrath, and be unable
To come before their shrines with quiet mind;
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And those sweet images which to men’s hearts
Are borne from holy bodies, messengers
Of form divine, these images no more
Will come to you, your heart at peace and tranquil.
What kind of life must follow is plain enough.
That such a life by truest reasoning
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May be banished far from us, though many words
I have uttered, much remains to tell, adorned
In polished verse. The order of the heavens
And visage of the sky must be my theme
And storm and lightning flash must be my song,
Both what they do and from what cause they spring;
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Lest senselessly you tremble at the sky
Divided into parts and speculate
Which one the flying fire came from or to which other
It went, and in what way it penetrated
Through walls of buildings, and having worked its will
Inside, made its way out again and so away.
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Calliope, most skilful of the Muses,
Solace of men, delight of gods, do you
Now go before me as the last lap I run
And point the way to the white winning post
Marked out for me, that led by you renown
May greet me as I win the victor’s crown.
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First, thunder shakes the blue expanse of sky
Because clouds flying high across the ether
Are dashed together by conflicting winds.
For no sound comes from a clear sky, but where
The clouds in close formation are deployed
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Often the mighty crash of thunder rolls.
Besides, the substance of the clouds can’t be
As thick as that of stones or logs, nor yet
As thin as that of mist or flying smoke.
For either they must fall, by their dead weight
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Dragged down, like stones, or like smoke they’ld be too thin
To contain freezing snow or showers of hail.
Above the levels of the world outspread
They make a noise like that of awnings stretched
Across the beams of some great theatre
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That flap and crack under the riotous winds
And split and break and make the crackling sound
Of tearing paper (for that kind of sound
Also you can detect in thunderstorms).
Or as when clothing hanging on a line
Or sheets of paper whirling in the wind
Are slapped and beaten by the sudden gusts.
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S
ometimes it happens also that the clouds
Cannot meet front to front, but scrape each other
Along the sides, moving in opposite directions,
And then that dry sound comes which on the ears
Grates, long drawn out, until they make their exit
Out of close quarters and move free in the sky.
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Another way by which a thunderstorm
Has seemed to make the whole earth quake and tremble,
By which in sudden shock the mighty walls
Of the embracing firmament have seemed
To leap apart, is when a sudden gale
Of strong winds massed together has thrust its way
Into the clouds, and there enclosed in them
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With whirling motion everywhere has scooped out
An ever-growing hollow, with a shell
Of cloud all round compacted more and more;
Then when the force and impulse of the wind
Has weakened it, the cloud is torn, and splits,
Exploding with a terrifying crash.
No wonder: since a small bladder full of air
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Makes such a loud noise when it suddenly bursts.
Another way that clouds produce a noise
Is when winds blow through them. We often see
Clouds branching out in many ways and tattered
Driven through the sky, just as, we may be sure,
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When the strong blasts of the north-west wind
Blow through a wood, leaves rustle and branches crack.
Sometimes also a furious force of wind
Shears through a cloud head on and splits it up.
For what the blast can do there, we can tell
From our own experience, seeing that here on earth,
Where it is gentler, none the less tall trees
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It overturns and tears up from the roots.
And there are waves among the clouds, which make
A kind of low roar as they break, as happens
Likewise in deep rivers and when the sea
Breaks with its rolling tide upon the shore.
Thunder comes also when a flaming stroke
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Of lightning falls from a cloud upon a cloud.
If the receiving cloud is full of water
It makes a great noise quenching it at once,
As red-hot iron taken from the furnace
Hisses when plunged into a tank of water.
And if a drier cloud receives the fire
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It lights at once and burns with mighty roar,
As on the mountains crowned with laurel came
A flame that driven by a whirling wind
Burnt all the woodlands with its rushing fire.
No other thing than Phoebus’ Delphic laurel
Burns with such fearful sound and crackling flame.
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Lastly, the crack of ice and fall of hail