'Twas Athens first, the glorious in name,That whilom gave to hapless sons of menThe sheaves of harvest, and re-ordered life,And decreed laws; and she the first that gaveLife its sweet solaces, when she begatA man of heart so wise, who whilom pouredAll wisdom forth from his truth-speaking mouth;The glory of whom, though dead, is yet to-day,Because of those discoveries divineRenowned of old, exalted to the sky.For when saw he that well-nigh everythingWhich needs of man most urgently requireWas ready to hand for mortals, and that life,As far as might be, was established safe,That men were lords in riches, honour, praise,And eminent in goodly fame of sons,And that they yet, O yet, within the home,Still had the anxious heart which vexed lifeUnpausingly with torments of the mind,And raved perforce with angry plaints, then he,Then he, the master, did perceive that 'twasThe vessel itself which worked the bane, and all,However wholesome, which from here or thereWas gathered into it, was by that baneSpoilt from within,—in part, because he sawThe vessel so cracked and leaky that nowise'T could ever be filled to brim; in part becauseHe marked how it polluted with foul tasteWhate'er it got within itself. So he,The master, then by his truth-speaking words,Purged the breasts of men, and set the boundsOf lust and terror, and exhibitedThe supreme good whither we all endeavour,And showed the path whereby we might arriveThereunto by a little cross-cut straight,And what of ills in all affairs of mortalsUpsprang and flitted deviously about(Whether by chance or force), since nature thusHad destined; and from out what gates a manShould sally to each combat. And he provedThat mostly vainly doth the human raceRoll in its bosom the grim waves of care.For just as children tremble and fear allIn the viewless dark, so even we at timesDread in the light so many things that beNo whit more fearsome than what children feign,Shuddering, will be upon them in the dark.This terror then, this darkness of the mind,Not sunrise with its flaring spokes of light,Nor glittering arrows of morning can disperse,But only nature's aspect and her law.Wherefore the more will I go on to weaveIn verses this my undertaken task.And since I've taught thee that the world's great vaultsAre mortal and that sky is fashionedOf frame e'en born in time, and whatsoe'erTherein go on and must perforce go on
The most I have unravelled; what remainsDo thou take in, besides; since once for allTo climb into that chariot' renowned
Of winds arise; and they appeased areSo that all things again...
Which were, are changed now, with fury stilled;All other movements through the earth and skyWhich mortals gaze upon (O anxious oftIn quaking thoughts!), and which abase their mindsWith dread of deities and press them crushedDown to the earth, because their ignoranceOf cosmic causes forces them to yieldAll things unto the empery of godsAnd to concede the kingly rule to them.For even those men who have learned full wellThat godheads lead a long life free of care,If yet meanwhile they wonder by what planThings can go on (and chiefly yon high thingsObserved o'erhead on the ethereal coasts),Again are hurried back unto the fearsOf old religion and adopt againHarsh masters, deemed almighty,—wretched men,Unwitting what can be and what cannot,And by what law to each its scope prescribed,Its boundary stone that clings so deep in Time.Wherefore the more are they borne wandering onBy blindfold reason. And, Memmius, unlessFrom out thy mind thou spuest all of thisAnd casteth far from thee all thoughts which beUnworthy gods and alien to their peace,Then often will the holy majestiesOf the high gods be harmful unto thee,As by thy thought degraded,—not, indeed,That essence supreme of gods could be by thisSo outraged as in wrath to thirst to seekRevenges keen; but even because thyselfThou plaguest with the notion that the gods,Even they, the Calm Ones in serene repose,Do roll the mighty waves of wrath on wrath;Nor wilt thou enter with a serene breastShrines of the gods; nor wilt thou able beIn tranquil peace of mind to take and knowThose images which from their holy bodiesAre carried into intellects of men,As the announcers of their form divine.What sort of life will follow after this'Tis thine to see. But that afar from usVeriest reason may drive such life away,Much yet remains to be embellished yetIn polished verses, albeit hath issued forthSo much from me already; lo, there isThe law and aspect of the sky to beBy reason grasped; there are the tempest timesAnd the bright lightnings to be hymned now—Even what they do and from what cause soe'erThey're borne along—that thou mayst tremble not,Marking off regions of prophetic skiesFor auguries, O foolishly distraughtEven as to whence the flying flame hath come,Or to which half of heaven it turns, or howThrough walled places it hath wound its way,Or, after proving its dominion there,How it hath speeded forth from thence amain—Whereof nowise the causes do men know,And think divinities are working there.Do thou, Calliope, ingenious Muse,Solace of mortals and delight of gods,Point out the course before me, as I raceOn to the white line of the utmost goal,That I may get with signal praise the crown,With thee my guide!
And so in first place, then,With thunder are shaken the blue deeps of heaven,Because the ethereal clouds, scudding aloft,Together clash, what time 'gainst one anotherThe winds are battling. For never a sound there comesFrom out the serene regions of the sky;But wheresoever in a host more denseThe clouds foregather, thence more often comesA crash with mighty rumbling. And, again,Clouds cannot be of so condensed a frameAs stones and timbers, nor again so fineAs mists and flying smoke; for then perforceThey'd either fall, borne down by their brute weight,Like stones, or, like the smoke, they'd powerless beTo keep their mass, or to retain withinFrore snows and storms of hail. And they give forthO'er skiey levels of the spreading worldA sound on high, as linen-awning, stretchedO'er mighty theatres, gives forth at timesA cracking roar, when much 'tis beaten aboutBetwixt the poles and cross-beams. Sometimes, too,Asunder rent by wanton gusts, it ravesAnd imitates the tearing sound of sheetsOf paper—even this kind of noise thou maystIn thunder hear—or sound as when winds whirlWith lashings and do buffet about in airA hanging cloth and flying paper-sheets.For sometimes, too, it chances that the cloudsCannot together crash head-on, but ratherMove side-wise and with motions contraryGraze each the other's body without speed,From whence that dry sound grateth on our ears,So long drawn-out, until the clouds have passedFrom out their close positions.And, again,In following wise all things seem oft to quakeAt shock of heavy thunder, and mightiest wallsOf the wide reaches of the upper worldThere on the instant to have sprung apart,Riven asunder, what time a gathered blastOf the fierce hurricane hath all at onceTwisted its way into a mass of clouds,And, there enclosed, ever more and moreCompelleth by its spinning whirl the cloudTo grow all hollow with a thickened crustSurrounding; for thereafter, when the forceAnd the keen onset of the wind have weakenedThat crust, lo, then the cloud, to-split in twain,Gives forth a hideous crash with bang and boom.No marvel this; since oft a bladder small,Filled up with air, will, when of sudden burst,Give forth a like large sound.There's reason, too,Why clouds make sounds, as through them blow the winds:We see, borne down the sky, oft shapes of cloudsRough-edged or branched many forky ways;And 'tis the same, as when the sudden flawsOf north-west wind through the dense forest blow,Making the leaves to sough and limbs to crash.It happens too at times that roused forceOf the fierce hurricane to-rends the cloud,Breaking right through it by a front assault;For what a blast of wind may do up thereIs manifest from facts when here on earthA blast more gentle yet uptwists tall treesAnd sucks them madly from their deepest roots.Besides, among the clouds are waves, and theseGive, as they roughly break, a rumbling roar;As when along deep streams or the great seaBreaks the loud surf. It happens, too, wheneverOut from one cloud into another fallsThe fiery energy of thunderbolt,That straightaway the cloud, if full of wet,Extinguishes the fire with mighty noise;As iron, white from the hot furnaces,Sizzles, when speedily we've plunged its glowDown the cold water. Further, if a cloudMore dry receive the fire, 'twill suddenlyKindle to flame and burn with monstrous sound,As if a flame with whirl of winds should rangeAlong the laurel-tressed mountains far,Upburning with its vast assault those trees;Nor is there aught that in the crackling flameConsumes with sound more terrible to manThan Delphic laurel of Apollo lord.Oft, too, the multitudinous crash of iceAnd down-pour of swift hail gives forth a soundAmong the mighty clouds on high; for whenThe wind hath packed them close, each mountain massOf rain-cloud, there congealed utterlyAnd mixed with hail-stones, breaks and booms...
Likewise, it lightens, when the clouds have struck,By their collision, forth the seeds of fire:As if a stone should smite a stone or steel,For light then too leaps forth and fire then scattersThe shining sparks. But with our ears we getThe thunder after eyes behold the flash,Because forever things arrive the earsMore tardily than the eyes—as thou mayst seeFrom this example too: when markest thouSome man far yonder felling a great treeWith double-edged ax, it comes to passThine eye beholds the swinging stroke beforeThe blow gives forth a sound athrough thine ears:Thus also we behold the flashing ereWe hear the thunder, which discharged isAt same time with the fire and by same cause,Born of the same collision.In following wiseThe clouds suffuse with leaping light the lands,And the storm flashes with tremulous elan:When the wind hath invaded a cloud, and, whirling there,Hath wrought (as I have shown above) the cloudInto a hollow with a thickened crust,It becomes hot of own velocity:Just as thou seest how motion will o'erheatAnd set ablaze all objects,—verilyA leaden ball, hurtling through length of space,Even melts. Therefore, when this same wind a-fireHath split black cloud, it scatters the fire-seeds,Which, so to say, have been pressed out by forceOf sudden from the cloud;—and these do makeThe pulsing flashes of flame; thence followethThe detonation which attacks our earsMore tardily than aught which comes alongUnto the sight of eyeballs. This takes place—As know thou mayst—at times when clouds are denseAnd one upon the other piled aloftWith wonderful upheavings—nor be thouDeceived because we see how broad their baseFrom underneath, and not how high they tower.For make thine observations at a timeWhen winds shall bear athwart the horizon's blueClouds like to mountain-ranges moving on,Or when about the sides of mighty peaksThou seest them one upon the other massedAnd burdening downward, anchored in high repose,With the winds sepulchred on all sides round:Then canst thou know their mighty masses, thenCanst view their caverns, as if builded thereOf beetling crags; which, when the hurricanesIn gathered storm have filled utterly,Then, prisoned in clouds, they rave aroundWith mighty roarings, and within those densBluster like savage beasts, and now from here,And now from there, send growlings through the clouds,And seeking an outlet, whirl themselves about,And roll from 'mid the clouds the seeds of fire,And heap them multitudinously there,And in the hollow furnaces withinWheel flame around, until from bursted cloudIn forky flashes they have gleamed forth.Again, from following cause it comes to passThat yon swift golden hue of liquid fireDarts downward to the earth: because the cloudsThemselves must hold abundant seeds of fire;For, when they be without all moisture, thenThey be for most part of a flamy hueAnd a resplendent. And, indeed, they mustEven from the light of sun unto themselvesTake multitudinous seeds, and so perforceRedden and pour their bright fires all abroad.And therefore, when the wind hath driven and thrust,Hath forced and squeezed into one spot these clouds,They pour abroad the seeds of fire pressed out,Which make to flash these colours of the flame.Likewise, it lightens also when the cloudsGrow rare and thin along the sky; for, whenThe wind with gentle touch unravels themAnd breaketh asunder as they move, those seedsWhich make the lightnings must by nature fall;At such an hour the horizon lightens roundWithout the hideous terror of dread noiseAnd skiey uproar.To proceed apace,What sort of nature thunderbolts possessIs by their strokes made manifest and byThe brand-marks of their searing heat on things,And by the scorched scars exhaling roundThe heavy fumes of sulphur. For all theseAre marks, O not of wind or rain, but fire.Again, they often enkindle even the roofsOf houses and inside the very roomsWith swift flame hold a fierce dominion.Know thou that nature fashioned this fireSubtler than fires all other, with minuteAnd dartling bodies,—a fire 'gainst which there's naughtCan in the least hold out: the thunderbolt,The mighty, passes through the hedging wallsOf houses, like to voices or a shout,—Through stones, through bronze it passes, and it meltsUpon the instant bronze and gold; and makes,Likewise, the wines sudden to vanish forth,The wine-jars intact,—because, ye see,Its heat arriving renders loose and porousReadily all the wine—jar's earthen sides,And winding its way within, it scatterethThe elements primordial of the wineWith speedy dissolution—process whichEven in an age the fiery steam of sunCould not accomplish, however puissant heWith his hot coruscations: so much moreAgile and overpowering is this force.
Now in what manner engendered are these things,How fashioned of such impetuous strengthAs to cleave towers asunder, and houses allTo overtopple, and to wrench apartTimbers and beams, and heroes' monumentsTo pile in ruins and upheave amain,And to take breath forever out of men,And to o'erthrow the cattle everywhere,—Yes, by what force the lightnings do all this,All this and more, I will unfold to thee,Nor longer keep thee in mere promises.The bolts of thunder, then, must be conceivedAs all begotten in those crasser cloudsUp-piled aloft; for, from the sky sereneAnd from the clouds of lighter density,None are sent forth forever. That 'tis soBeyond a doubt, fact plain to sense declares:To wit, at such a time the densed cloudsSo mass themselves through all the upper airThat we might think that round about all murkHad parted forth from Acheron and filledThe mighty vaults of sky—so grievously,As gathers thus the storm-clouds' gruesome might,Do faces of black horror hang on high—When tempest begins its thunderbolts to forge.Besides, full often also out at seaA blackest thunderhead, like cataractOf pitch hurled down from heaven, and far awayBulging with murkiness, down on the wavesFalls with vast uproar, and draws on amainThe darkling tempests big with thunderboltsAnd hurricanes, itself the while so crammedTremendously with fires and winds, that evenBack on the lands the people shudder roundAnd seek for cover. Therefore, as I said,The storm must be conceived as o'er our headTowering most high; for never would the cloudsO'erwhelm the lands with such a massy dark,Unless up-builded heap on lofty heap,To shut the round sun off. Nor could the clouds,As on they come, engulf with rain so vastAs thus to make the rivers overflowAnd fields to float, if ether were not thusFurnished with lofty-piled clouds. Lo, then,Here be all things fulfilled with winds and fires—Hence the long lightnings and the thunders loud.For, verily, I've taught thee even nowHow cavernous clouds hold seeds innumerableOf fiery exhalations, and they mustFrom off the sunbeams and the heat of theseTake many still. And so, when that same wind(Which, haply, into one region of the skyCollects those clouds) hath pressed from out the sameThe many fiery seeds, and with that fireHath at the same time inter-mixed itself,O then and there that wind, a whirlwind now,Deep in the belly of the cloud spins roundIn narrow confines, and sharpens there insideIn glowing furnaces the thunderbolt.For in a two-fold manner is that windEnkindled all: it trembles into heatBoth by its own velocity and byRepeated touch of fire. Thereafter, whenThe energy of wind is heated throughAnd the fierce impulse of the fire hath spedDeeply within, O then the thunderbolt,Now ripened, so to say, doth suddenlySplinter the cloud, and the aroused flashLeaps onward, lumining with forky lightAll places round. And followeth anonA clap so heavy that the skiey vaults,As if asunder burst, seem from on highTo engulf the earth. Then fearfully a quakePervades the lands, and 'long the lofty skiesRun the far rumblings. For at such a timeNigh the whole tempest quakes, shook through and through,And roused are the roarings,—from which shockComes such resounding and abounding rain,That all the murky ether seems to turnNow into rain, and, as it tumbles down,To summon the fields back to primeval floods:So big the rains that be sent down on menBy burst of cloud and by the hurricane,What time the thunder-clap, from burning boltThat cracks the cloud, flies forth along. At timesThe force of wind, excited from without,Smiteth into a cloud already hotWith a ripe thunderbolt. And when that windHath splintered that cloud, then down there cleaves forthwithYon fiery coil of flame which still we call,Even with our fathers' word, a thunderbolt.The same thing haps toward every other sideWhither that force hath swept. It happens, too,That sometimes force of wind, though hurtled forthWithout all fire, yet in its voyage through spaceIgniteth, whilst it comes along, along,—Losing some larger bodies which cannotPass, like the others, through the bulks of air,—And, scraping together out of air itselfSome smaller bodies, carries them along,And these, commingling, by their flight make fire:Much in the manner as oft a leaden ballGrows hot upon its aery course, the whileIt loseth many bodies of stark coldAnd taketh into itself along the airNew particles of fire. It happens, too,That force of blow itself arouses fire,When force of wind, a-cold and hurtled forthWithout all fire, hath strook somewhere amain—No marvel, because, when with terrific stroke'Thas smitten, the elements of fiery-stuffCan stream together from out the very windAnd, simultaneously, from out that thingWhich then and there receives the stroke: as fliesThe fire when with the steel we hack the stone;Nor yet, because the force of steel's a-cold,Rush the less speedily together thereUnder the stroke its seeds of radiance hot.And therefore, thuswise must an object tooBe kindled by a thunderbolt, if haply'Thas been adapt and suited to the flames.Yet force of wind must not be rashly deemedAs altogether and entirely cold—That force which is discharged from on highWith such stupendous power; but if 'tis notUpon its course already kindled with fire,It yet arriveth warmed and mixed with heat.And, now, the speed and stroke of thunderboltIs so tremendous, and with glide so swiftThose thunderbolts rush on and down, becauseTheir roused force itself collects itselfFirst always in the clouds, and then preparesFor the huge effort of their going-forth;Next, when the cloud no longer can retainThe increment of their fierce impetus,Their force is pressed out, and therefore fliesWith impetus so wondrous, like to shotsHurled from the powerful Roman catapults.Note, too, this force consists of elementsBoth small and smooth, nor is there aught that canWith ease resist such nature. For it dartsBetween and enters through the pores of things;And so it never falters in delayDespite innumerable collisions, butFlies shooting onward with a swift elan.Next, since by nature always every weightBears downward, doubled is the swiftness thenAnd that elan is still more wild and dread,When, verily, to weight are added blows,So that more madly and more fiercely thenThe thunderbolt shakes into shivers allThat blocks its path, following on its way.Then, too, because it comes along, alongWith one continuing elan, it mustTake on velocity anew, anew,Which still increases as it goes, and everAugments the bolt's vast powers and to the blowGives larger vigour; for it forces all,All of the thunder's seeds of fire, to sweepIn a straight line unto one place, as 'twere,—Casting them one by other, as they roll,Into that onward course. Again, perchance,In coming along, it pulls from out the airSome certain bodies, which by their own blowsEnkindle its velocity. And, lo,It comes through objects leaving them unharmed,It goes through many things and leaves them whole,Because the liquid fire flieth alongAthrough their pores. And much it does transfix,When these primordial atoms of the boltHave fallen upon the atoms of these thingsPrecisely where the intertwined atomsAre held together. And, further, easilyBrass it unbinds and quickly fuseth gold,Because its force is so minutely madeOf tiny parts and elements so smoothThat easily they wind their way within,And, when once in, quickly unbind all knotsAnd loosen all the bonds of union there.And most in autumn is shaken the house of heaven,The house so studded with the glittering stars,And the whole earth around—most too in springWhen flowery times unfold themselves: for, lo,In the cold season is there lack of fire,And winds are scanty in the hot, and cloudsHave not so dense a bulk. But when, indeed,The seasons of heaven are betwixt these twain,The divers causes of the thunderboltThen all concur; for then both cold and heatAre mixed in the cross-seas of the year,So that a discord rises among thingsAnd air in vast tumultuosityBillows, infuriate with the fires and winds—Of which the both are needed by the cloudFor fabrication of the thunderbolt.For the first part of heat and last of coldIs the time of spring; wherefore must things unlikeDo battle one with other, and, when mixed,Tumultuously rage. And when rolls roundThe latest heat mixed with the earliest chill—The time which bears the name of autumn—thenLikewise fierce cold-spells wrestle with fierce heats.On this account these seasons of the yearAre nominated "cross-seas."—And no marvelIf in those times the thunderbolts prevailAnd storms are roused turbulent in heaven,Since then both sides in dubious warfare rageTumultuously, the one with flames, the otherWith winds and with waters mixed with winds.This, this it is, O Memmius, to see throughThe very nature of fire-fraught thunderbolt;O this it is to mark by what blind forceIt maketh each effect, and not, O notTo unwind Etrurian scrolls oracular,Inquiring tokens of occult will of gods,Even as to whence the flying flame hath come,Or to which half of heaven it turns, or howThrough walled places it hath wound its way,Or, after proving its dominion there,How it hath speeded forth from thence amain,Or what the thunderstroke portends of illFrom out high heaven. But if JupiterAnd other gods shake those refulgent vaultsWith dread reverberations and hurl fireWhither it pleases each, why smite they notMortals of reckless and revolting crimes,That such may pant from a transpierced breastForth flames of the red levin—unto menA drastic lesson?—why is rather he—O he self-conscious of no foul offence—Involved in flames, though innocent, and claspedUp-caught in skiey whirlwind and in fire?Nay, why, then, aim they at eternal wastes,And spend themselves in vain?—perchance, even soTo exercise their arms and strengthen shoulders?Why suffer they the Father's javelinTo be so blunted on the earth? And whyDoth he himself allow it, nor spare the sameEven for his enemies? O why most oftAims he at lofty places? Why behold weMarks of his lightnings most on mountain tops?Then for what reason shoots he at the sea?—What sacrilege have waves and bulk of brineAnd floating fields of foam been guilty of?Besides, if 'tis his will that we bewareAgainst the lightning-stroke, why feareth heTo grant us power for to behold the shot?And, contrariwise, if wills he to o'erwhelm us,Quite off our guard, with fire, why thunders heOff in yon quarter, so that we may shun?Why rouseth he beforehand darkling airAnd the far din and rumblings? And O howCanst thou believe he shoots at one same timeInto diverse directions? Or darest thouContend that never hath it come to passThat divers strokes have happened at one time?But oft and often hath it come to pass,And often still it must, that, even as showersAnd rains o'er many regions fall, so tooDart many thunderbolts at one same time.Again, why never hurtles JupiterA bolt upon the lands nor pours abroadClap upon clap, when skies are cloudless all?Or, say, doth he, so soon as ever the cloudsHave come thereunder, then into the sameDescend in person, that from thence he mayNear-by decide upon the stroke of shaft?And, lastly, why, with devastating boltShakes he asunder holy shrines of godsAnd his own thrones of splendour, and to-breaksThe well-wrought idols of divinities,And robs of glory his own imagesBy wound of violence?But to return apace,Easy it is from these same facts to knowIn just what wise those things (which from their sortThe Greeks have named "bellows") do come down,Discharged from on high, upon the seas.For it haps that sometimes from the sky descendsUpon the seas a column, as if pushed,Round which the surges seethe, tremendouslyAroused by puffing gusts; and whatso'erOf ships are caught within that tumult thenCome into extreme peril, dashed along.This haps when sometimes wind's aroused forceCan't burst the cloud it tries to, but down-weighsThat cloud, until 'tis like a column from skyUpon the seas pushed downward—gradually,As if a Somewhat from on high were shovedBy fist and nether thrust of arm, and lengthenedFar to the waves. And when the force of windHath rived this cloud, from out the cloud it rushesDown on the seas, and starts among the wavesA wondrous seething, for the eddying whirlDescends and downward draws along with itThat cloud of ductile body. And soon as ever'Thas shoved unto the levels of the mainThat laden cloud, the whirl suddenly thenPlunges its whole self into the waters thereAnd rouses all the sea with monstrous roar,Constraining it to seethe. It happens tooThat very vortex of the wind involvesItself in clouds, scraping from out the airThe seeds of cloud, and counterfeits, as 'twere,The "bellows" pushed from heaven. And when this shapeHath dropped upon the lands and burst apart,It belches forth immeasurable mightOf whirlwind and of blast. Yet since 'tis formedAt most but rarely, and on land the hillsMust block its way, 'tis seen more oft out thereOn the broad prospect of the level mainAlong the free horizons.Into beingThe clouds condense, when in this upper spaceOf the high heaven have gathered suddenly,As round they flew, unnumbered particles—World's rougher ones, which can, though interlinkedWith scanty couplings, yet be fastened firm,The one on other caught. These particlesFirst cause small clouds to form; and, thereupon,These catch the one on other and swarm in a flockAnd grow by their conjoining, and by windsAre borne along, along, until collectsThe tempest fury. Happens, too, the nearerThe mountain summits neighbour to the sky,The more unceasingly their far crags smokeWith the thick darkness of swart cloud, becauseWhen first the mists do form, ere ever the eyesCan there behold them (tenuous as they be),The carrier-winds will drive them up and onUnto the topmost summits of the mountain;And then at last it happens, when they beIn vaster throng upgathered, that they canBy this very condensation lie revealed,And that at same time they are seen to surgeFrom very vertex of the mountain upInto far ether. For very fact and feeling,As we up-climb high mountains, proveth clearThat windy are those upward regions free.Besides, the clothes hung-out along the shore,When in they take the clinging moisture, proveThat nature lifts from over all the seaUnnumbered particles. Whereby the more'Tis manifest that many particlesEven from the salt upheavings of the mainCan rise together to augment the bulkOf massed clouds. For moistures in these twainAre near akin. Besides, from out all rivers,As well as from the land itself, we seeUp-rising mists and steam, which like a breathAre forced out from them and borne aloft,To curtain heaven with their murk, and make,By slow foregathering, the skiey clouds.For, in addition, lo, the heat on highOf constellated ether burdens downUpon them, and by sort of condensationWeaveth beneath the azure firmamentThe reek of darkling cloud. It happens, too,That hither to the skies from the BeyondDo come those particles which make the cloudsAnd flying thunderheads. For I have taughtThat this their number is innumerableAnd infinite the sum of the Abyss,And I have shown with what stupendous speedThose bodies fly and how they're wont to passAmain through incommunicable space.Therefore, 'tis not exceeding strange, if oftIn little time tempest and darkness coverWith bulking thunderheads hanging on highThe oceans and the lands, since everywhereThrough all the narrow tubes of yonder ether,Yea, so to speak, through all the breathing-holesOf the great upper-world encompassing,There be for the primordial elementsExits and entrances.Now come, and howThe rainy moisture thickens into beingIn the lofty clouds, and how upon the lands'Tis then discharged in down-pour of large showers,I will unfold. And first triumphantlyWill I persuade thee that up-rise together,With clouds themselves, full many seeds of waterFrom out all things, and that they both increase—Both clouds and water which is in the clouds—In like proportion, as our frames increaseIn like proportion with our blood, as wellAs sweat or any moisture in our members.Besides, the clouds take in from time to timeMuch moisture risen from the broad marine,—Whilst the winds bear them o'er the mighty sea,Like hanging fleeces of white wool. Thuswise,Even from all rivers is there lifted upMoisture into the clouds. And when thereinThe seeds of water so many in many waysHave come together, augmented from all sides,The close-jammed clouds then struggle to dischargeTheir rain-storms for a two-fold reason: lo,The wind's force crowds them, and the very excessOf storm-clouds (massed in a vaster throng)Giveth an urge and pressure from aboveAnd makes the rains out-pour. Besides when, too,The clouds are winnowed by the winds, or scatteredSmitten on top by heat of sun, they sendTheir rainy moisture, and distil their drops,Even as the wax, by fiery warmth on top,Wasteth and liquefies abundantly.But comes the violence of the bigger rainsWhen violently the clouds are weighted downBoth by their cumulated mass and byThe onset of the wind. And rains are wontTo endure awhile and to abide for long,When many seeds of waters are aroused,And clouds on clouds and racks on racks outstreamIn piled layers and are borne alongFrom every quarter, and when all the earthSmoking exhales her moisture. At such a timeWhen sun with beams amid the tempest-murkHath shone against the showers of black rains,Then in the swart clouds there emerges brightThe radiance of the bow.And as to thingsNot mentioned here which of themselves do growOr of themselves are gendered, and all thingsWhich in the clouds condense to being—all,Snow and the winds, hail and the hoar-frosts chill,And freezing, mighty force—of lakes and poolsThe mighty hardener, and mighty checkWhich in the winter curbeth everywhereThe rivers as they go—'tis easy still,Soon to discover and with mind to seeHow they all happen, whereby gendered,When once thou well hast understood just whatFunctions have been vouchsafed from of oldUnto the procreant atoms of the world.Now come, and what the law of earthquakes isHearken, and first of all take care to knowThat the under-earth, like to the earth around us,Is full of windy caverns all about;And many a pool and many a grim abyssShe bears within her bosom, ay, and cliffsAnd jagged scarps; and many a river, hidBeneath her chine, rolls rapidly alongIts billows and plunging boulders. For clear factRequires that earth must be in every partAlike in constitution. Therefore, earth,With these things underneath affixed and set,Trembleth above, jarred by big down-tumblings,When time hath undermined the huge caves,The subterranean. Yea, whole mountains fall,And instantly from spot of that big jarThere quiver the tremors far and wide abroad.And with good reason: since houses on the streetBegin to quake throughout, when jarred by a cartOf no large weight; and, too, the furnitureWithin the house up-bounds, when a paving-blockGives either iron rim of the wheels a jolt.It happens, too, when some prodigious bulkOf age-worn soil is rolled from mountain slopesInto tremendous pools of water dark,That the reeling land itself is rocked aboutBy the water's undulations; as a basinSometimes won't come to rest until the fluidWithin it ceases to be rocked aboutIn random undulations.And besides,When subterranean winds, up-gathered thereIn the hollow deeps, bulk forward from one spot,And press with the big urge of mighty powersAgainst the lofty grottos, then the earthBulks to that quarter whither push amainThe headlong winds. Then all the builded housesAbove ground—and the more, the higher up-rearedUnto the sky—lean ominously, careeningInto the same direction; and the beams,Wrenched forward, over-hang, ready to go.Yet dread men to believe that there awaitsThe nature of the mighty world a timeOf doom and cataclysm, albeit they seeSo great a bulk of lands to bulge and break!And lest the winds blew back again, no forceCould rein things in nor hold from sure careerOn to disaster. But now because those windsBlow back and forth in alternation strong,And, so to say, rallying charge again,And then repulsed retreat, on this accountEarth oftener threatens than she brings to passCollapses dire. For to one side she leans,Then back she sways; and after totteringForward, recovers then her seats of poise.Thus, this is why whole houses rock, the roofsMore than the middle stories, middle moreThan lowest, and the lowest least of all.Arises, too, this same great earth-quaking,When wind and some prodigious force of air,Collected from without or down withinThe old telluric deeps, have hurled themselvesAmain into those caverns sub-terrene,And there at first tumultuously chafeAmong the vasty grottos, borne aboutIn mad rotations, till their lashed forceAroused out-bursts abroad, and then and there,Riving the deep earth, makes a mighty chasm—What once in Syrian Sidon did befall,And once in Peloponnesian Aegium,Twain cities which such out-break of wild airAnd earth's convulsion, following hard upon,O'erthrew of old. And many a walled town,Besides, hath fall'n by such omnipotentConvulsions on the land, and in the seaEngulfed hath sunken many a city downWith all its populace. But if, indeed,They burst not forth, yet is the very rushOf the wild air and fury-force of windThen dissipated, like an ague-fit,Through the innumerable pores of earth,To set her all a-shake—even as a chill,When it hath gone into our marrow-bones,Sets us convulsively, despite ourselves,A-shivering and a-shaking. Therefore, menWith two-fold terror bustle in alarmThrough cities to and fro: they fear the roofsAbove the head; and underfoot they dreadThe caverns, lest the nature of the earthSuddenly rend them open, and she gape,Herself asunder, with tremendous maw,And, all confounded, seek to chock it fullWith her own ruins. Let men, then, go onFeigning at will that heaven and earth shall beInviolable, entrusted evermoreTo an eternal weal: and yet at timesThe very force of danger here at handProds them on some side with this goad of fear—This among others—that the earth, withdrawnAbruptly from under their feet, be hurried down,Down into the abyss, and the Sum-of-ThingsBe following after, utterly fordone,Till be but wrack and wreckage of a world.