De Rerum Natura
Lucretius
Lucretius. De Rerum Natura. William Ellery Leonard. E. P. Dutton. 1916.
- Thus, too, the ramparts of the mighty world
- On all sides round shall taken be by storm,
- And tumble to wrack and shivered fragments down.
- For food it is must keep things whole, renewing;
- 'Tis food must prop and give support to all,-
- But to no purpose, since nor veins suffice
- To hold enough, nor nature ministers
- As much as needful. And even now 'tis thus:
- Its age is broken and the earth, outworn
- With many parturitions, scarce creates
- The little lives- she who created erst
- All generations and gave forth at birth
- Enormous bodies of wild beasts of old.
- For never, I fancy, did a golden cord
- From off the firmament above let down
- The mortal generations to the fields;
- Nor sea, nor breakers pounding on the rocks
- Created them; but earth it was who bore-
- The same to-day who feeds them from herself.
- Besides, herself of own accord, she first
- The shining grains and vineyards of all joy
- Created for mortality; herself
- Gave the sweet fruitage and the pastures glad,
- Which now to-day yet scarcely wax in size,
- Even when aided by our toiling arms.
- We break the ox, and wear away the strength
- Of sturdy farm-hands; iron tools to-day
- Barely avail for tilling of the fields,
- So niggardly they grudge our harvestings,
- So much increase our labour. Now to-day
- The aged ploughman, shaking of his head,
- Sighs o'er and o'er that labours of his hands
- Have fallen out in vain, and, as he thinks
- How present times are not as times of old,
- Often he praises the fortunes of his sire,
- And crackles, prating, how the ancient race,
- Fulfilled with piety, supported life
- With simple comfort in a narrow plot,
- Since, man for man, the measure of each field
- Was smaller far i' the old days. And, again,
- The gloomy planter of the withered vine
- Rails at the season's change and wearies heaven,
- Nor grasps that all of things by sure degrees
- Are wasting away and going to the tomb,
- Outworn by venerable length of life.
- O thou who first uplifted in such dark
- So clear a torch aloft, who first shed light
- Upon the profitable ends of man,
- O thee I follow, glory of the Greeks,
- And set my footsteps squarely planted now
- Even in the impress and the marks of thine-
- Less like one eager to dispute the palm,
- More as one craving out of very love
- That I may copy thee!- for how should swallow
- Contend with swans or what compare could be
- In a race between young kids with tumbling legs
- And the strong might of the horse? Our father thou,
- And finder-out of truth, and thou to us
- Suppliest a father's precepts; and from out
- Those scriven leaves of thine, renowned soul
- (Like bees that sip of all in flowery wolds),
- We feed upon thy golden sayings all-
- Golden, and ever worthiest endless life.
- For soon as ever thy planning thought that sprang
- From god-like mind begins its loud proclaim
- Of nature's courses, terrors of the brain
- Asunder flee, the ramparts of the world
- Dispart away, and through the void entire
- I see the movements of the universe.
- Rises to vision the majesty of gods,
- And their abodes of everlasting calm
- Which neither wind may shake nor rain-cloud splash,
- Nor snow, congealed by sharp frosts, may harm
- With its white downfall: ever, unclouded sky
- O'er roofs, and laughs with far-diffused light.
- And nature gives to them their all, nor aught
- May ever pluck their peace of mind away.
- But nowhere to my vision rise no more
- The vaults of Acheron, though the broad earth
- Bars me no more from gazing down o'er all
- Which under our feet is going on below
- Along the void. O, here in these affairs
- Some new divine delight and trembling awe
- Takes hold through me, that thus by power of thine
- Nature, so plain and manifest at last,
- Hath been on every side laid bare to man!
- And since I've taught already of what sort
- The seeds of all things are, and how, distinct
- In divers forms, they flit of own accord,
- Stirred with a motion everlasting on,
- And in what mode things be from them create,
- Now, after such matters, should my verse, meseems,
- Make clear the nature of the mind and soul,
- And drive that dread of Acheron without,
- Headlong, which so confounds our human life
- Unto its deeps, pouring o'er all that is
- The black of death, nor leaves not anything
- To prosper- a liquid and unsullied joy.