De Rerum Natura
Lucretius
Lucretius. De Rerum Natura. William Ellery Leonard. E. P. Dutton. 1916.
- Again, we view
- From dark recesses things that stand in light,
- Because, when first has entered and possessed
- The open eyes this nearer darkling air,
- Swiftly the shining air and luminous
- Followeth in, which purges then the eyes
- And scatters asunder of that other air
- The sable shadows, for in large degrees
- This air is nimbler, nicer, and more strong.
- And soon as ever 'thas filled and oped with light
- The pathways of the eyeballs, which before
- Black air had blocked, there follow straightaway
- Those films of things out-standing in the light,
- Provoking vision- what we cannot do
- From out the light with objects in the dark,
- Because that denser darkling air behind
- Followeth in, and fills each aperture
- And thus blockades the pathways of the eyes
- That there no images of any things
- Can be thrown in and agitate the eyes.
- And when from far away we do behold
- The squared towers of a city, oft
- Rounded they seem,- on this account because
- Each distant angle is perceived obtuse,
- Or rather it is not perceived at all;
- And perishes its blow nor to our gaze
- Arrives its stroke, since through such length of air
- Are borne along the idols that the air
- Makes blunt the idol of the angle's point
- By numerous collidings. When thuswise
- The angles of the tower each and all
- Have quite escaped the sense, the stones appear
- As rubbed and rounded on a turner's wheel-
- Yet not like objects near and truly round,
- But with a semblance to them, shadowily.
- Likewise, our shadow in the sun appears
- To move along and follow our own steps
- And imitate our carriage- if thou thinkest
- Air that is thus bereft of light can walk,
- Following the gait and motion of mankind.
- For what we use to name a shadow, sure
- Is naught but air deprived of light. No marvel:
- Because the earth from spot to spot is reft
- Progressively of light of sun, whenever
- In moving round we get within its way,
- While any spot of earth by us abandoned
- Is filled with light again, on this account
- It comes to pass that what was body's shadow
- Seems still the same to follow after us
- In one straight course. Since, evermore pour in
- New lights of rays, and perish then the old,
- Just like the wool that's drawn into the flame.
- Therefore the earth is easily spoiled of light
- And easily refilled and from herself
- Washeth the black shadows quite away.
- And yet in this we don't at all concede
- That eyes be cheated. For their task it is
- To note in whatsoever place be light,
- In what be shadow: whether or no the gleams
- Be still the same, and whether the shadow which
- Just now was here is that one passing thither,
- Or whether the facts be what we said above,
- 'Tis after all the reasoning of mind
- That must decide; nor can our eyeballs know
- The nature of reality. And so
- Attach thou not this fault of mind to eyes,
- Nor lightly think our senses everywhere
- Are tottering. The ship in which we sail
- Is borne along, although it seems to stand;
- The ship that bides in roadstead is supposed
- There to be passing by. And hills and fields
- Seem fleeing fast astern, past which we urge
- The ship and fly under the bellying sails.
- The stars, each one, do seem to pause, affixed
- To the ethereal caverns, though they all
- Forever are in motion, rising out
- And thence revisiting their far descents
- When they have measured with their bodies bright
- The span of heaven. And likewise sun and moon
- Seem biding in a roadstead,- objects which,
- As plain fact proves, are really borne along.
- Between two mountains far away aloft
- From midst the whirl of waters open lies
- A gaping exit for the fleet, and yet
- They seem conjoined in a single isle.
- When boys themselves have stopped their spinning round,
- The halls still seem to whirl and posts to reel,
- Until they now must almost think the roofs
- Threaten to ruin down upon their heads.
- And now, when nature begins to lift on high
- The sun's red splendour and the tremulous fires,
- And raise him o'er the mountain-tops, those mountains-
- O'er which he seemeth then to thee to be,
- His glowing self hard by atingeing them
- With his own fire- are yet away from us
- Scarcely two thousand arrow-shots, indeed
- Oft scarce five hundred courses of a dart;
- Although between those mountains and the sun
- Lie the huge plains of ocean spread beneath
- The vasty shores of ether, and intervene
- A thousand lands, possessed by many a folk
- And generations of wild beasts. Again,