De Rerum Natura
Lucretius
Lucretius. De Rerum Natura. William Ellery Leonard. E. P. Dutton. 1916.
- But nature herself,
- Mother of things, was the first seed-sower
- And primal grafter; since the berries and acorns,
- Dropping from off the trees, would there beneath
- Put forth in season swarms of little shoots;
- Hence too men's fondness for ingrafting slips
- Upon the boughs and setting out in holes
- The young shrubs o'er the fields. Then would they try
- Ever new modes of tilling their loved crofts,
- And mark they would how earth improved the taste
- Of the wild fruits by fond and fostering care.
- And day by day they'd force the woods to move
- Still higher up the mountain, and to yield
- The place below for tilth, that there they might,
- On plains and uplands, have their meadow-plats,
- Cisterns and runnels, crops of standing grain,
- And happy vineyards, and that all along
- O'er hillocks, intervales, and plains might run
- The silvery-green belt of olive-trees,
- Marking the plotted landscape; even as now
- Thou seest so marked with varied loveliness
- All the terrain which men adorn and plant
- With rows of goodly fruit-trees and hedge round
- With thriving shrubberies sown.
- But by the mouth
- To imitate the liquid notes of birds
- Was earlier far 'mongst men than power to make,
- By measured song, melodious verse and give
- Delight to ears. And whistlings of the wind
- Athrough the hollows of the reeds first taught
- The peasantry to blow into the stalks
- Of hollow hemlock-herb. Then bit by bit
- They learned sweet plainings, such as pipe out-pours,
- Beaten by finger-tips of singing men,
- When heard through unpathed groves and forest deeps
- And woodsy meadows, through the untrod haunts
- Of shepherd folk and spots divinely still.
- Thus time draws forward each and everything
- Little by little unto the midst of men,
- And reason uplifts it to the shores of light.
- These tunes would soothe and glad the minds of mortals
- When sated with food,- for songs are welcome then.
- And often, lounging with friends in the soft grass
- Beside a river of water, underneath
- A big tree's branches, merrily they'd refresh
- Their frames, with no vast outlay- most of all
- If the weather were smiling and the times of the year
- Were painting the green of the grass around with flowers.
- Then jokes, then talk, then peals of jollity
- Would circle round; for then the rustic muse
- Was in her glory; then would antic Mirth
- Prompt them to garland head and shoulders about
- With chaplets of intertwined flowers and leaves,
- And to dance onward, out of tune, with limbs
- Clownishly swaying, and with clownish foot
- To beat our mother earth- from whence arose
- Laughter and peals of jollity, for, lo,
- Such frolic acts were in their glory then,
- Being more new and strange. And wakeful men
- Found solaces for their unsleeping hours
- In drawing forth variety of notes,
- In modulating melodies, in running
- With puckered lips along the tuned reeds,
- Whence, even in our day do the watchmen guard
- These old traditions, and have learned well
- To keep true measure. And yet they no whit
- Do get a larger fruit of gladsomeness
- Than got the woodland aborigines
- In olden times. For what we have at hand-
- If theretofore naught sweeter we have known-
- That chiefly pleases and seems best of all;
- But then some later, likely better, find
- Destroys its worth and changes our desires
- Regarding good of yesterday.
- And thus
- Began the loathing of the acorn; thus
- Abandoned were those beds with grasses strewn
- And with the leaves beladen. Thus, again,
- Fell into new contempt the pelts of beasts-
- Erstwhile a robe of honour, which, I guess,
- Aroused in those days envy so malign
- That the first wearer went to woeful death
- By ambuscades,- and yet that hairy prize,
- Rent into rags by greedy foemen there
- And splashed by blood, was ruined utterly
- Beyond all use or vantage. Thus of old
- 'Twas pelts, and of to-day 'tis purple and gold
- That cark men's lives with cares and weary with war.
- Wherefore, methinks, resides the greater blame
- With us vain men to-day: for cold would rack,
- Without their pelts, the naked sons of earth;
- But us it nothing hurts to do without
- The purple vestment, broidered with gold
- And with imposing figures, if we still
- Make shift with some mean garment of the Plebs.
- So man in vain futilities toils on
- Forever and wastes in idle cares his years-
- Because, of very truth, he hath not learnt
- What the true end of getting is, nor yet
- At all how far true pleasure may increase.
- And 'tis desire for better and for more
- Hath carried by degrees mortality
- Out onward to the deep, and roused up
- From the far bottom mighty waves of war.