The Project Gutenberg eBook ofTranslations from Lucretius

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofTranslations from LucretiusThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Translations from LucretiusAuthor: Titus Lucretius CarusTranslator: R. C. TrevelyanRelease date: December 12, 2020 [eBook #64024]Most recently updated: October 18, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Sonya Schermann, Chuck Greif and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by The InternetArchive)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TRANSLATIONS FROM LUCRETIUS ***

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Translations from LucretiusAuthor: Titus Lucretius CarusTranslator: R. C. TrevelyanRelease date: December 12, 2020 [eBook #64024]Most recently updated: October 18, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Sonya Schermann, Chuck Greif and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by The InternetArchive)

Title: Translations from Lucretius

Author: Titus Lucretius CarusTranslator: R. C. Trevelyan

Author: Titus Lucretius Carus

Translator: R. C. Trevelyan

Release date: December 12, 2020 [eBook #64024]Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Sonya Schermann, Chuck Greif and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by The InternetArchive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TRANSLATIONS FROM LUCRETIUS ***

By the same Author.

Thoumother of the Aenead race, delightOf men and deities, bountiful Venus, thouWho under the sky’s gliding constellationsFillest ship-carrying ocean with thy presenceAnd the corn-bearing lands, since through thy powerEach kind of living creature is conceivedThen riseth and beholdeth the sun’s light:Before thee and thine advent the winds and cloudsOf heaven take flight, O goddess: daedal earthPuts forth sweet-scented flowers beneath thy feet:Beholding thee the smooth deep laughs, the skyGrows calm and shines with wide-outspreading light.For soon as the day’s vernal countenanceHas been revealed, and fresh from wintry bondsBlows the birth-giving breeze of the West wind,First do the birds of air give sign of thee,Goddess, and thine approach, as through their heartsThine influence smites. Next the wild herds of beastsBound over the rich pastures and swim throughThe rapid streams, as captured by thy charmEach one with eager longing follows theeWhithersoever thou wouldst lure them on.And thus through seas, mountains and rushing rivers,Through the birds’ leafy homes and the green plains,Striking bland love into the hearts of all,Thou art the cause that following his lustEach should renew his race after his kind.Therefore since thou alone art nature’s mistress,And since without thine aid naught can rise forthInto the glorious regions of the light,Nor aught grow to be gladsome and delectable,Thee would I win to help me while I writeThese verses, wherein I labour to describeThe nature of things in honour of my friendThis scion of the Memmian house, whom thouHast willed to be found peerless all his daysIn every grace. Therefore the more, great deity,Grant to my words eternal loveliness:Cause meanwhile that the savage works of warfareOver all seas and lands sink hushed to rest.For thou alone hast power to bless mankindWith tranquil peace; since of war’s savage worksMavors mighty in battle hath control,Who oft flings himself back upon thy lap,Quite vanquished by love’s never-healing wound;And so with upturned face and shapely neckThrown backward, feeds with love his hungry looks,Gazing on thee, goddess, while thus he liesSupine, and on thy lips his spirit hangs.O’er him thus couched upon thy holy bodyDo thou bend down to enfold him, and from thy lipsPour tender speech, petitioning calm peace,O glorious divinity, for thy Romans.For nor can we in our country’s hour of troubleToil with a mind untroubled at our task,Nor yet may the famed child of MemmiusBe spared from public service in such times.For the rest,[A]leisured ears and a keen mindWithdrawn from cares, lend to true reasoning,Lest my gifts, which with loving diligenceI set out for you, ere they be understoodYou should reject disdainfully. For nowAbout the most high theory of the heavensAnd of the deities, I will undertakeTo tell you in my discourse, and will revealThe first beginnings of existing things,Out of which nature gives birth and increaseAnd nourishment to all things; into whichNature likewise, when they have been destroyed,Resolves them back in turn. These we are wont,In setting forth our argument, to callMatter, or else begetting particles,Or to name them the seeds of things: againAs primal atoms we shall speak of them,Because from them first everything is formed.When prostrate upon earth lay human lifeVisibly trampled down and foully crushedBeneath religion’s cruelty, who meanwhileForth from the regions of the heavens aboveShowed forth her face, lowering down on menWith horrible aspect, first did a man of Greece[B]Dare to lift up his mortal eyes against her;The first was he to stand up and defy her.Him neither stories of the gods, nor lightnings,Nor heaven with muttering menaces could quell,But all the more did they arouse his soul’sKeen valour, till he longed to be the firstTo break through the fast-bolted doors of nature.Therefore his fervent energy of mindPrevailed, and he passed onward, voyaging farBeyond the flaming ramparts of the world,Ranging in mind and spirit far and wideThroughout the unmeasured universe; and thenceA conqueror he returns to us, bringing backKnowledge both of what can and what cannotRise into being, teaching us in fineUpon what principle each thing has its powersLimited, and its deep-set boundary stone.Therefore now has religion been cast downBeneath men’s feet, and trampled on in turn:Ourselves heaven-high his victory exalts.Herein this fear assails me, lest perchanceYou should suppose I would initiate youInto a school of reasoning unholy,And set your feet upon a path of sin:Whereas in truth often has this religionGiven birth to sinful and unholy deeds.So once at Aulis did those chosen chiefsOf Hellas, those most eminent among heros,Foully defile the Trivian Virgin’s altarWith Iphianassa’s lifeblood. For so soonAs the fillet wreathed around her maiden locksStreamed down in equal lengths from either cheek,And soon as she was aware of her father standingSorrowful by the altar, and at his sideThe priestly ministers hiding the knife,And the folk shedding tears at sight of her,Speechless in terror, dropping on her kneesTo the earth she sank down. Nor in that hourOf anguish might it avail her that she firstHad given the name of father to the king;For by the hands of men lifted on highShuddering to the altar she was borne,Not that, when the due ceremonial ritesHad been accomplished, she might be escortedBy the clear-sounding hymenaeal song,But that a stainless maiden foully stained,In the very season of marriage she might fallA sorrowful victim by a father’s stroke,That so there might be granted to the fleetA happy and hallowed sailing. Such the crimesWhereto religion has had power to prompt.Yet there may come a time when you yourself,Surrendering to the terror-breathing talesOf seers and bards, will seek to abandon us.Ay verily, how many dreams even nowMay they be forging for you, which might wellOverturn your philosophy of life,And trouble all your happiness with fear!And with good cause: for if men could perceiveThat there was a fixed limit to their sorrows,By some means they would find strength to withstandThe hallowed lies and threatenings of these seers.But as it is, men have no means, no powerTo make a stand, since everlasting seemThe penalties that they must fear in death.For none knows what is the nature of the soul,Whether ’tis born, or on the contraryEnters into our bodies at their birth:Whether, when torn from us by death, it perishesTogether with us, or thereafter goesTo visit Orcus’ glooms and the vast chasms;Or penetrates by ordinance divineInto brutes in man’s stead, as sang our ownEnnius, who first from pleasant HeliconBrought down a garland of unfading leaf,Destined among Italian tribes of menTo win bright glory. And yet in spite of thisEnnius sets forth in immortal verseThat none the less there does exist a realmOf Acheron, though neither do our soulsNor bodies penetrate thither, but a kindOf phantom images, pale in wondrous wise:And thence it was, so he relates, that onceThe ghost of ever-living Homer roseBefore him, shedding salt tears, and beganTo unfold in discourse the nature of things.Therefore not only must we grasp the truthConcerning things on high, what principleControls the courses of the sun and moon,And by what force all that takes place on earthIs governed, but above all by keen thoughtWe must investigate whereof consistsThe soul and the mind’s nature, and what it isThat comes before us when we wake, if thenWe are preyed on by disease, or when we lieBuried in sleep, and terrifies our minds,So that we seem face to face to beholdAnd hear those speaking to us who are dead,Whose bones the earth now holds in its embrace.Nor am I unaware how hard my taskIn Latin verses to set clearly forthThe obscure truths discovered by the Greeks,Chiefly because so much will need new termsTo deal with it, owing to our povertyOf language, and the novelty of the themes.Nevertheless your worth and the delightOf your sweet friendship, which I hope to win,Prompt me to bear the burden of any toil,And lead me on to watch the calm nights through,Seeking by means of what words and what measuresI may attain my end, and shed so clearA light upon your spirit, that therebyYour gaze may search the depths of hidden things.This terror, then, and darkness of the mindMust needs be scattered not by the sun’s beamsAnd day’s bright arrows, but by contemplationOf nature’s aspect and her inward law.And this first principle of her designShall be our starting point: nothing is everBy divine will begotten out of nothing.In truth the reason fear so dominatesAll mortals, is that they behold on earthAnd in the sky many things happening,Yet of these operations by no meansCan they perceive the causes, and so fancyThat they must come to pass by power divine.Therefore when we have understood that nothingCan be born out of nothing, we shall thenWin juster knowledge of the truth we seek,Both from what elements each thing can be formed,And in what way all things can come to passWithout the intervention of the gods.For if things came from nothing, any kindMight be born out of anything; naught thenWould require seed. Thus men might rise from oceanThe scaly race out of the land, while birdsMight suddenly be hatched forth from the sky:Cattle and other herds and every kindOf wild beast, bred by no fixed law of birth,Would roam o’er tilth and wilderness alike.No fruit would remain constant to its tree,But would change; every tree would bear all kinds.For if there were not for each thing its ownBegetting particles, how could they haveA fixed unvarying mother? But in factSince all are formed from fixed seeds, each is bornAnd issues into the borders of the lightFrom that alone wherein resides its substanceAnd its first bodies. And for this cause all thingsCannot be generated out of all,Since in each dwells its own particular power.Again why do we see in spring the rose,Corn in the summer’s heat, vines bursting forthWhen autumn summons them, if not becauseWhen in their own time the fixed seeds of thingsHave flowed together, there is then revealedWhatever has been born, while the due seasonsAre present, and the quickened earth brings forthSafely into the borders of the lightIts tender nurslings? But if they were formedFrom nothing, they would suddenly spring upAt unfixed periods and hostile times,Since there would then be no fixed particlesTo be kept from a begetting unionBy the unpropitious season of the year.Nor yet after the meeting of the seedWould lapse of time be needed for their increase,If they could grow from nothing. SuddenlySmall babes would become youths; trees would ariseShooting up in a moment from the ground.But nothing of the kind, ’tis plain, takes place,Seeing that all things grow little by little,As befits, from determined seed, and growingPreserve their kind: so that you may perceiveThat all things become greater and are nourishedOut of their own material. FurthermoreWithout fixed annual seasons for the rainEarth could not put her gladdening produce forth,Nor yet, if kept apart from nourishment,Could living creatures propagate their kindOr sustain life: so that with greater reasonYou may think many things have many atomsIn common, as we see that different wordsHave common letters, than that anythingCan come to being without first elements.Again, why could not nature have producedMen of such mighty bulk, that they could wadeThrough the deep places of the sea, or rendHuge mountains with their hands, or in one lifeOverpass many living generations,If not because there has been set apartA changeless substance for begetting things,And what can thence arise is predetermined?Therefore we must confess this truth, that nothingCan come from nothing, since seed is requiredFor each thing, out of which it may be bornAnd lift itself into the air’s soft breezes.Lastly, since it is evident that tilled landsExcel the untilled, and yield to labouring handsA richer harvest, we may thence inferThat in the earth there must be primal atoms,And these, labouring its soil, we stimulateTo rise, when with the coulter we turn upThe fertile clods. But if none such existed,We should see all things without toil of oursSpring forth far richer of their own accord.Furthermore nature dissolves each form backInto its own first particles, nor everAnnihilates things. For if aught could be mortalIn all its parts, then it might from our eyesBe snatched away to perish suddenly.For there would be no need of any forceTo cause disruption of its parts, and loosenTheir fastenings. But in fact each is composedOf everlasting seeds; so till some forceArrives that with a blow can shatter thingsTo pieces, or can penetrate withinTheir empty spaces, and so break them up,Nature will not permit the dissolutionOf anything to be seen. Again, if timeUtterly destroys, consuming all the substanceOf whatsoever it removes from sightThrough lapse of ages, out of what does VenusBring back into the light of life the raceOf living creatures each after its kind?Or, once brought back, whence does the daedal earthFeed and increase them, giving nourishmentTo each after its kind? Whence do its ownFountains and far-drawn rivers from withoutKeep full the sea? Whence does the ether feedThe stars? For infinite time and lapse of daysSurely must long since have devoured all thingsFormed of a body that must die. But ifThroughout that period of time long pastThose atoms have existed out of whichThis universe of things has been composedAnd recomposed, ’tis plain they are possessedOf an immortal nature: none of themTherefore can turn to nothing. Then againThe same force and the same cause would destroyAll things without distinction, were it notThat an eternal substance held them fast,A substance interwoven part with partBy bonds more or less close. For without doubtA mere touch would be cause enough for death,Seeing that any least amount of forceMust needs dissolve the texture of such things,No one of which had an eternal body.But in fact since the mutual fasteningsBetween first elements are dissimilar,And their substance eternal, things endureWith body uninjured, till some force arrivesStrong enough to dissolve the texture of each.Therefore no single thing ever returnsTo nothing, but at their disruption allPass back into the elements of matter.Lastly the rain showers perish, when the sky fatherHas flung them into the lap of mother earth.But then bright crops spring up luxuriantly;Boughs on the trees are green; the trees themselvesGrow, and with fruits are laden: from this sourceMoreover both our own race and the raceOf beasts are nourished; for this cause we seeGlad towns teeming with children, leafy woodsWith young birds’ voices singing on all sides;For this cause cattle about the fertile meadowsWearied with fatness lay their bodies down,And from their swollen udders oozing fallsThe white milk stream; for this cause a new broodBounds on weak limbs over the soft grass, friskingAnd gamboling, their young hearts with pure milk thrilled.None therefore of those things that seem to perishUtterly perishes, since nature formsOne thing out of another, and permitsNothing to be begotten, unless firstShe has been recruited by another’s death.Now listen: since I have proved to you that thingsCannot be formed from nothing, lest you yetShould tend in any way to doubt my words,Because the primal particles of thingsCan never be distinguished by the eyes,I will proceed to give you instancesOf bodies which yourself you must admitAre real things, yet cannot be perceived.First the wind’s wakened force scourges the sea,Whelming huge ships and scattering the clouds;And sometimes with impetuous hurricaneScouring the plains, it strews them with great trees,And ravages with forest-rending blastsThe mountain-tops: with such rude savageryDoes the wind howl and bluster and wreak its rageWith menacing uproar. Therefore past all doubtWinds must be formed of unseen particlesThat sweep the seas, the lands, the clouds of heaven,Ravaging and dishevelling them allWith fitful hurricane gusts. Onward they streamMultiplying destruction, just as whenThe soft nature of water suddenlySwoops forward in one overwhelming floodSwelled with abundant rains by a mighty spateOf water rushing down from the high hills,Hurtling together broken forest boughsAnd entire trees: nor can the sturdy bridgesSustain the oncoming water’s sudden force:In such wise turbulent with much rain the riverFlings its whole mighty strength against the piles.With a loud crashing roar it then deals havoc,And rolls the huge stones on beneath its waves,Sweeping before it all that stems its flood.In this way then wind-blasts must likewise move;And when like a strong stream they have hurled themselvesTowards any quarter, they thrust things alongAnd with repeated onslaughts overwhelm them,Often in writhing eddy seizing themTo bear them away in swiftly circling swirl.Therefore beyond all doubt winds are composedOf unseen atoms, since in their works and waysWe find that they resemble mighty riversWhich are of visible substance. Then againWe can perceive the various scents of things,Yet never see them coming to our nostrils:Heat too we see not, nor can we observeCold with our eyes, nor ever behold words:Yet must all these be of a bodily nature,Since they are able to act upon our senses.For naught can touch or be touched except body.Clothes also, hung up on a shore where wavesAre breaking, become moist, and then grow dryIf spread out in the sun. Yet in what wayThe water’s moisture has soaked into them,Has not been seen, nor again in what wayThe heat has driven it out. The moisture thereforeIs dispersed into tiny particles,Which our eyes have no power to see at all.Furthermore after many revolutionsOf the sun’s year, a finger-ring is thinnedOn the under side by being worn: the fallOf dripping eave-drops hollows out a stone:The bent ploughshare of iron insensiblyGrows smaller in the fields; and we beholdThe paving stones of roads worn down at lengthBy the footsteps of the people. Then againThe brazen statues at the city gatesShow right hands wearing thinner by the touchOf those who greet them ever as they pass by.Thus we perceive that all such things grow lessBecause they have been worn down: and yet what atomsAre leaving them each moment, that the jealousNature of vision has quite shut us outFrom seeing. Finally whatever timeAnd nature gradually add to things,Obliging them to grow in due proportion,No effort of our eyesight can behold.So too whenever things grow old by ageOr through corruption, and wherever rocksThat overhang the sea are gnawed awayBy the corroding brine, you cannot discernWhat they are losing at any single moment.Thus nature operates by unseen atoms.

For the rest,[A]leisured ears and a keen mindWithdrawn from cares, lend to true reasoning,Lest my gifts, which with loving diligenceI set out for you, ere they be understoodYou should reject disdainfully. For nowAbout the most high theory of the heavensAnd of the deities, I will undertakeTo tell you in my discourse, and will revealThe first beginnings of existing things,Out of which nature gives birth and increaseAnd nourishment to all things; into whichNature likewise, when they have been destroyed,Resolves them back in turn. These we are wont,In setting forth our argument, to callMatter, or else begetting particles,Or to name them the seeds of things: againAs primal atoms we shall speak of them,Because from them first everything is formed.

When prostrate upon earth lay human lifeVisibly trampled down and foully crushedBeneath religion’s cruelty, who meanwhileForth from the regions of the heavens aboveShowed forth her face, lowering down on menWith horrible aspect, first did a man of Greece[B]Dare to lift up his mortal eyes against her;The first was he to stand up and defy her.Him neither stories of the gods, nor lightnings,Nor heaven with muttering menaces could quell,But all the more did they arouse his soul’sKeen valour, till he longed to be the firstTo break through the fast-bolted doors of nature.Therefore his fervent energy of mindPrevailed, and he passed onward, voyaging farBeyond the flaming ramparts of the world,Ranging in mind and spirit far and wideThroughout the unmeasured universe; and thenceA conqueror he returns to us, bringing backKnowledge both of what can and what cannotRise into being, teaching us in fineUpon what principle each thing has its powersLimited, and its deep-set boundary stone.Therefore now has religion been cast downBeneath men’s feet, and trampled on in turn:Ourselves heaven-high his victory exalts.

Herein this fear assails me, lest perchanceYou should suppose I would initiate youInto a school of reasoning unholy,And set your feet upon a path of sin:Whereas in truth often has this religionGiven birth to sinful and unholy deeds.So once at Aulis did those chosen chiefsOf Hellas, those most eminent among heros,Foully defile the Trivian Virgin’s altarWith Iphianassa’s lifeblood. For so soonAs the fillet wreathed around her maiden locksStreamed down in equal lengths from either cheek,And soon as she was aware of her father standingSorrowful by the altar, and at his sideThe priestly ministers hiding the knife,And the folk shedding tears at sight of her,Speechless in terror, dropping on her kneesTo the earth she sank down. Nor in that hourOf anguish might it avail her that she firstHad given the name of father to the king;For by the hands of men lifted on highShuddering to the altar she was borne,Not that, when the due ceremonial ritesHad been accomplished, she might be escortedBy the clear-sounding hymenaeal song,But that a stainless maiden foully stained,In the very season of marriage she might fallA sorrowful victim by a father’s stroke,That so there might be granted to the fleetA happy and hallowed sailing. Such the crimesWhereto religion has had power to prompt.

Yet there may come a time when you yourself,Surrendering to the terror-breathing talesOf seers and bards, will seek to abandon us.Ay verily, how many dreams even nowMay they be forging for you, which might wellOverturn your philosophy of life,And trouble all your happiness with fear!And with good cause: for if men could perceiveThat there was a fixed limit to their sorrows,By some means they would find strength to withstandThe hallowed lies and threatenings of these seers.But as it is, men have no means, no powerTo make a stand, since everlasting seemThe penalties that they must fear in death.For none knows what is the nature of the soul,Whether ’tis born, or on the contraryEnters into our bodies at their birth:Whether, when torn from us by death, it perishesTogether with us, or thereafter goesTo visit Orcus’ glooms and the vast chasms;Or penetrates by ordinance divineInto brutes in man’s stead, as sang our ownEnnius, who first from pleasant HeliconBrought down a garland of unfading leaf,Destined among Italian tribes of menTo win bright glory. And yet in spite of thisEnnius sets forth in immortal verseThat none the less there does exist a realmOf Acheron, though neither do our soulsNor bodies penetrate thither, but a kindOf phantom images, pale in wondrous wise:And thence it was, so he relates, that onceThe ghost of ever-living Homer roseBefore him, shedding salt tears, and beganTo unfold in discourse the nature of things.Therefore not only must we grasp the truthConcerning things on high, what principleControls the courses of the sun and moon,And by what force all that takes place on earthIs governed, but above all by keen thoughtWe must investigate whereof consistsThe soul and the mind’s nature, and what it isThat comes before us when we wake, if thenWe are preyed on by disease, or when we lieBuried in sleep, and terrifies our minds,So that we seem face to face to beholdAnd hear those speaking to us who are dead,Whose bones the earth now holds in its embrace.

Nor am I unaware how hard my taskIn Latin verses to set clearly forthThe obscure truths discovered by the Greeks,Chiefly because so much will need new termsTo deal with it, owing to our povertyOf language, and the novelty of the themes.Nevertheless your worth and the delightOf your sweet friendship, which I hope to win,Prompt me to bear the burden of any toil,And lead me on to watch the calm nights through,Seeking by means of what words and what measuresI may attain my end, and shed so clearA light upon your spirit, that therebyYour gaze may search the depths of hidden things.

This terror, then, and darkness of the mindMust needs be scattered not by the sun’s beamsAnd day’s bright arrows, but by contemplationOf nature’s aspect and her inward law.And this first principle of her designShall be our starting point: nothing is everBy divine will begotten out of nothing.In truth the reason fear so dominatesAll mortals, is that they behold on earthAnd in the sky many things happening,Yet of these operations by no meansCan they perceive the causes, and so fancyThat they must come to pass by power divine.Therefore when we have understood that nothingCan be born out of nothing, we shall thenWin juster knowledge of the truth we seek,Both from what elements each thing can be formed,And in what way all things can come to passWithout the intervention of the gods.

For if things came from nothing, any kindMight be born out of anything; naught thenWould require seed. Thus men might rise from oceanThe scaly race out of the land, while birdsMight suddenly be hatched forth from the sky:Cattle and other herds and every kindOf wild beast, bred by no fixed law of birth,Would roam o’er tilth and wilderness alike.No fruit would remain constant to its tree,But would change; every tree would bear all kinds.For if there were not for each thing its ownBegetting particles, how could they haveA fixed unvarying mother? But in factSince all are formed from fixed seeds, each is bornAnd issues into the borders of the lightFrom that alone wherein resides its substanceAnd its first bodies. And for this cause all thingsCannot be generated out of all,Since in each dwells its own particular power.Again why do we see in spring the rose,Corn in the summer’s heat, vines bursting forthWhen autumn summons them, if not becauseWhen in their own time the fixed seeds of thingsHave flowed together, there is then revealedWhatever has been born, while the due seasonsAre present, and the quickened earth brings forthSafely into the borders of the lightIts tender nurslings? But if they were formedFrom nothing, they would suddenly spring upAt unfixed periods and hostile times,Since there would then be no fixed particlesTo be kept from a begetting unionBy the unpropitious season of the year.Nor yet after the meeting of the seedWould lapse of time be needed for their increase,If they could grow from nothing. SuddenlySmall babes would become youths; trees would ariseShooting up in a moment from the ground.But nothing of the kind, ’tis plain, takes place,Seeing that all things grow little by little,As befits, from determined seed, and growingPreserve their kind: so that you may perceiveThat all things become greater and are nourishedOut of their own material. FurthermoreWithout fixed annual seasons for the rainEarth could not put her gladdening produce forth,Nor yet, if kept apart from nourishment,Could living creatures propagate their kindOr sustain life: so that with greater reasonYou may think many things have many atomsIn common, as we see that different wordsHave common letters, than that anythingCan come to being without first elements.Again, why could not nature have producedMen of such mighty bulk, that they could wadeThrough the deep places of the sea, or rendHuge mountains with their hands, or in one lifeOverpass many living generations,If not because there has been set apartA changeless substance for begetting things,And what can thence arise is predetermined?Therefore we must confess this truth, that nothingCan come from nothing, since seed is requiredFor each thing, out of which it may be bornAnd lift itself into the air’s soft breezes.Lastly, since it is evident that tilled landsExcel the untilled, and yield to labouring handsA richer harvest, we may thence inferThat in the earth there must be primal atoms,And these, labouring its soil, we stimulateTo rise, when with the coulter we turn upThe fertile clods. But if none such existed,We should see all things without toil of oursSpring forth far richer of their own accord.

Furthermore nature dissolves each form backInto its own first particles, nor everAnnihilates things. For if aught could be mortalIn all its parts, then it might from our eyesBe snatched away to perish suddenly.For there would be no need of any forceTo cause disruption of its parts, and loosenTheir fastenings. But in fact each is composedOf everlasting seeds; so till some forceArrives that with a blow can shatter thingsTo pieces, or can penetrate withinTheir empty spaces, and so break them up,Nature will not permit the dissolutionOf anything to be seen. Again, if timeUtterly destroys, consuming all the substanceOf whatsoever it removes from sightThrough lapse of ages, out of what does VenusBring back into the light of life the raceOf living creatures each after its kind?Or, once brought back, whence does the daedal earthFeed and increase them, giving nourishmentTo each after its kind? Whence do its ownFountains and far-drawn rivers from withoutKeep full the sea? Whence does the ether feedThe stars? For infinite time and lapse of daysSurely must long since have devoured all thingsFormed of a body that must die. But ifThroughout that period of time long pastThose atoms have existed out of whichThis universe of things has been composedAnd recomposed, ’tis plain they are possessedOf an immortal nature: none of themTherefore can turn to nothing. Then againThe same force and the same cause would destroyAll things without distinction, were it notThat an eternal substance held them fast,A substance interwoven part with partBy bonds more or less close. For without doubtA mere touch would be cause enough for death,Seeing that any least amount of forceMust needs dissolve the texture of such things,No one of which had an eternal body.But in fact since the mutual fasteningsBetween first elements are dissimilar,And their substance eternal, things endureWith body uninjured, till some force arrivesStrong enough to dissolve the texture of each.Therefore no single thing ever returnsTo nothing, but at their disruption allPass back into the elements of matter.Lastly the rain showers perish, when the sky fatherHas flung them into the lap of mother earth.But then bright crops spring up luxuriantly;Boughs on the trees are green; the trees themselvesGrow, and with fruits are laden: from this sourceMoreover both our own race and the raceOf beasts are nourished; for this cause we seeGlad towns teeming with children, leafy woodsWith young birds’ voices singing on all sides;For this cause cattle about the fertile meadowsWearied with fatness lay their bodies down,And from their swollen udders oozing fallsThe white milk stream; for this cause a new broodBounds on weak limbs over the soft grass, friskingAnd gamboling, their young hearts with pure milk thrilled.None therefore of those things that seem to perishUtterly perishes, since nature formsOne thing out of another, and permitsNothing to be begotten, unless firstShe has been recruited by another’s death.

Now listen: since I have proved to you that thingsCannot be formed from nothing, lest you yetShould tend in any way to doubt my words,Because the primal particles of thingsCan never be distinguished by the eyes,I will proceed to give you instancesOf bodies which yourself you must admitAre real things, yet cannot be perceived.First the wind’s wakened force scourges the sea,Whelming huge ships and scattering the clouds;And sometimes with impetuous hurricaneScouring the plains, it strews them with great trees,And ravages with forest-rending blastsThe mountain-tops: with such rude savageryDoes the wind howl and bluster and wreak its rageWith menacing uproar. Therefore past all doubtWinds must be formed of unseen particlesThat sweep the seas, the lands, the clouds of heaven,Ravaging and dishevelling them allWith fitful hurricane gusts. Onward they streamMultiplying destruction, just as whenThe soft nature of water suddenlySwoops forward in one overwhelming floodSwelled with abundant rains by a mighty spateOf water rushing down from the high hills,Hurtling together broken forest boughsAnd entire trees: nor can the sturdy bridgesSustain the oncoming water’s sudden force:In such wise turbulent with much rain the riverFlings its whole mighty strength against the piles.With a loud crashing roar it then deals havoc,And rolls the huge stones on beneath its waves,Sweeping before it all that stems its flood.In this way then wind-blasts must likewise move;And when like a strong stream they have hurled themselvesTowards any quarter, they thrust things alongAnd with repeated onslaughts overwhelm them,Often in writhing eddy seizing themTo bear them away in swiftly circling swirl.Therefore beyond all doubt winds are composedOf unseen atoms, since in their works and waysWe find that they resemble mighty riversWhich are of visible substance. Then againWe can perceive the various scents of things,Yet never see them coming to our nostrils:Heat too we see not, nor can we observeCold with our eyes, nor ever behold words:Yet must all these be of a bodily nature,Since they are able to act upon our senses.For naught can touch or be touched except body.Clothes also, hung up on a shore where wavesAre breaking, become moist, and then grow dryIf spread out in the sun. Yet in what wayThe water’s moisture has soaked into them,Has not been seen, nor again in what wayThe heat has driven it out. The moisture thereforeIs dispersed into tiny particles,Which our eyes have no power to see at all.Furthermore after many revolutionsOf the sun’s year, a finger-ring is thinnedOn the under side by being worn: the fallOf dripping eave-drops hollows out a stone:The bent ploughshare of iron insensiblyGrows smaller in the fields; and we beholdThe paving stones of roads worn down at lengthBy the footsteps of the people. Then againThe brazen statues at the city gatesShow right hands wearing thinner by the touchOf those who greet them ever as they pass by.Thus we perceive that all such things grow lessBecause they have been worn down: and yet what atomsAre leaving them each moment, that the jealousNature of vision has quite shut us outFrom seeing. Finally whatever timeAnd nature gradually add to things,Obliging them to grow in due proportion,No effort of our eyesight can behold.So too whenever things grow old by ageOr through corruption, and wherever rocksThat overhang the sea are gnawed awayBy the corroding brine, you cannot discernWhat they are losing at any single moment.Thus nature operates by unseen atoms.

Moreoverwe are sprung, all we that live,From heavenly seed: there is, for all, that sameOne father[C]; from whom when the bounteous Earth,Our mother, has drunk in the liquid dropsOf moisture, then by him impregnatedShe bears bright crops and glad trees and the raceOf men, bears every species of wild beast,Furnishing food with which all feed their bodies,And lead a pleasant life, and propagateTheir offspring. Wherefore justly she has wonThe name of mother. Also that which onceCame from the earth, sinks back into the earth,And what was sent down from the coasts of aether,Returning thither, is received once moreInto the mansions of the sky. So deathDoes not demolish things in such a wayAs to destroy the particles of matter,But only dissipates their union,Then recombines one element with another,And so brings it to pass that all things changeTheir shapes, alter their colours, and receiveSensations, then in a moment yield them up.Thus you may learn how greatly it signifiesBoth with what others and in what positionsThe same primordial atoms are held bound;Also what motions they are mutuallyImparting and receiving: and thus tooYou need no more suppose that what we seeHovering upon the surfaces of things,Or now being born, then suddenly perishing,[D]Can be inherent qualities in atomsThat are eternal. Nay, in my verses evenIt is of moment with what other lettersAnd in what order each one has been placed.If not all, yet by far the greater partAre similar letters: but as their positionVaries, so do the words sound different.Thus too with actual things, whenever changeTakes place in the collisions motions orderShape and position of their material atoms,Then also must the things themselves be changed.Now to true reasoning turn your mind, I pray;For a new theme is struggling urgentlyTo reach your ears, a new aspect of thingsWould now reveal itself. But there is naughtSo easy, that at first it will not seemDifficult of belief, and likewise naughtSo mighty, naught so wondrous, but that allLittle by little abate their wonder at it.Consider first the colour of the heavens,So bright and pure, and all that they contain,The stars wandering everywhere, the moonAnd the surpassing radiance of the sun;If all these sights were now for the first timeTo be revealed to mortals suddenlyAnd without warning, what could have been describedThat would have seemed more marvellous than such things,Or that humanity could less have daredBeforehand to believe might come to pass?Nothing, I think: so wonderful had beenThis spectacle. Yet think how no one now,Wearied to satiety at the sight,Deigns to look up at the sky’s shining quarters.Cease therefore to cast reason from your mindTerrified by mere novelty, but ratherWeigh facts with eager judgment; and if thenThey appear true, surrender; if they seemA falsehood, gird yourself to prove them so.For since the sum of space outside, beyondThis world’s walls, must be infinite, the mind seeksTo reason as to what may else existYonder in regions whither the intellectIs constantly desiring to prospect,And whither the projection of our thoughtReaches in free flight of its own accord.Now first of all we find that everywhereIn all directions, horizontally,Below and above throughout the universeThere is no limit, as I have demonstrated.Indeed the facts themselves proclaim the truth,And the deep void reveals its nature clearly.Since then on all sides vacant space extendsIllimitably, and seeds in countless numberAnd sum immeasurable flit to and froEternally driven on in manifold modesOf motion, we must deem it in no wiseProbable that this single globe of earthAnd this one heaven alone have been created,While outside all those particles of matterAre doing nothing: the more so that this worldWas formed by nature, as the seeds of things,Casually colliding of their ownSpontaneous motion, flocked in manifold waysTogether, vainly, without aim or result,Until at last such particles combinedAs, suddenly thrown together, might becomeFrom time to time the rudiments of great things,Earth, sea, sky, and the race of living creatures.Therefore beyond all question we are boundTo admit that elsewhere other aggregatesOf matter must exist, resembling thisWhich in its greedy embrace our aether holds.Moreover, when much matter is at hand,And space is there, nor any obstacleNor cause of hindrance, then you may be sureThings must be forming and dissolving there.Now if there be so vast a store of seedsThat the whole lifetime of all conscious beingsWould fail to count them, and if likewise natureAbides the same, and so can throw togetherThe seeds of things each into its own place,In the same manner as they were thrown togetherInto our world, then you must needs admitThat in other regions there are other earths,And diverse stocks of men and kinds of beasts.Besides in the whole universe there existsNo one thing that is born unique, and growsUnique and sole; but it must needs belongTo one class, and there must be many othersOf the same kind. Consider first of allLive creatures: you will find that thus are bornThe mountain-ranging breeds of savage beasts,Thus the human race, thus also the dumb shoalsOf scaly fish and every flying fowl.Therefore by a like reasoning you must grantThat sky and earth and sun, moon, sea and allThat else exists, are not unique, but ratherOf number innumerable; since life’s deep-fixedBoundary stone as surely awaits these,And they are of a body that has birthAs much as any species here on earthAbounding in examples of its kind.If you learn well and keep these truths in mind,Nature, forthwith enfranchised and releasedFrom her proud lords, is seen then to be actingIn all things of herself spontaneouslyWithout the interference of the gods.For by the holy breasts of those divinities,Who in calm peace are passing tranquil daysOf life untroubled, who, I ask, has powerTo rule the sum of space immeasurable?Or who to hold in his controlling handThe strong reins of the deep? Who can at onceMake all those various firmaments revolveAnd with the fires of aether warm each oneOf all those fruitful earths, or at all timesBe present in all places, so to causeDarkness by clouds, and shake the calms of heavenWith thunder, to hurl lightnings, and ofttimesShatter down his own temples, or withdrawTo desert regions, there to spend his furyAnd exercise his bolt, which often indeedPasses the guilty by, and strikes with deathThe unoffending who deserve it least.Now since the birth-time of the world, since seaAnd earth’s first natal day and the sun’s origin,Many atoms have been added from without,Many seeds from all round, which, shooting themHither and thither, the great universeHas brought together: and by means of theseSea and land have been able to increase;Thus too the mansion of the sky has gainedNew spaciousness, and lifted its high roofFar above earth, and the air has risen with it.For to each thing its own appropriate atomsAre all distributed by blows from allRegions of space, so that they separateInto their proper elements. Moisture joinsWith moisture: earth from earthy substance grows;Fires generate fire, and ether ether,Till Nature, the creatress, consummatingHer labour, has brought all things to their lastLimit of growth; as happens, when at lengthThat which is entering the veins of lifeIs now no more than what is flowing awayAnd ebbing thence. In all things at this pointThe age of growth must halt: at this point natureCurbs increase by her powers. For all such thingsAs you may see waxing with joyous growth,And climbing step by step to matured ageReceive into themselves more particlesThan they discharge, so long as food is passingEasily into all their veins, and whileThey are not so widely spread as to throw offToo many atoms and to cause more wasteThan what their life requires for nourishment.For we must surely grant that many atomsAre flowing away from things and leaving them:But still more must be added, till at lengthThey have attained the highest pitch of growth.Then age little by little breaks their powersAnd their mature strength, as it wastes awayOn the worse side of life. And out of doubtThe bulkier and the wider a thing is,Once its growth ceases, the more particlesDoes it now shed around it and dischargeOn all sides: nor is food distributedEasily into all its veins, nor yetIn quantity sufficient that therefromA supply may continually rise upTo compensate the copious emanationsWhich it exhales. For there is need of foodTo preserve all things by renewing them:Food must uphold, food sustain everything:Yet all is to no purpose, since the veinsFail to convey what should suffice, nor yetDoes nature furnish all that is required.There is good reason therefore why all formsShould perish, when they are rarefied by fluxOf atoms, and succumb to external blows,Since food must fail advanced age in the end,And atoms cease not ever from outsideTo buffet each thing till they wear it outAnd overpower it by beleaguering blows.In this way then it is that the walls tooOf the great world from all sides shall be stormedAnd so collapsing crumble away to ruins.And even now already this world’s ageIs broken, and the worn-out earth can scarceCreate the tiniest animals, she who onceCreated every kind, and brought to birthThe huge shapes of wild beasts. For, as I think,Neither did any golden rope let downThe tribes of mortal creatures from the heightsOf heaven on to the fields, nor did the seaNor its waves beating on the rocks create them,But the same earth gave birth to them, which nowFeeds them from her own breast. At first moreoverHerself spontaneously did she createFlourishing crops and rich vines for mankind,Herself gave them sweet fruits and joyous pastures;Which now, though aided by our toil, scarce growTo any size. Thus we wear out our oxenAnd the strength of our peasants: we use upOur iron tools; yet hardly do we winA sustenance from the fields, so niggardlyThey grudge their produce and increase our toil.And now shaking his head the aged ploughmanSighs ever and anon, when he beholdsThe labours of his hands all spent in vain;And when with times past he compares the present,He praises often the fortune of his sire,Harping upon that ancient race of menWho rich in piety supported lifeUpon their narrow plots contentedly,Seeing the land allotted to each manWas far less in those days than now. So tooThe planter of the worn-out shrivelled vineDisconsolately inveighs against the marchOf time, wearying heaven with complaints,And understands not how all things are wastingLittle by little, and passing to the graveTired out by lengthening age and lapse of days.

Now to true reasoning turn your mind, I pray;For a new theme is struggling urgentlyTo reach your ears, a new aspect of thingsWould now reveal itself. But there is naughtSo easy, that at first it will not seemDifficult of belief, and likewise naughtSo mighty, naught so wondrous, but that allLittle by little abate their wonder at it.Consider first the colour of the heavens,So bright and pure, and all that they contain,The stars wandering everywhere, the moonAnd the surpassing radiance of the sun;If all these sights were now for the first timeTo be revealed to mortals suddenlyAnd without warning, what could have been describedThat would have seemed more marvellous than such things,Or that humanity could less have daredBeforehand to believe might come to pass?Nothing, I think: so wonderful had beenThis spectacle. Yet think how no one now,Wearied to satiety at the sight,Deigns to look up at the sky’s shining quarters.Cease therefore to cast reason from your mindTerrified by mere novelty, but ratherWeigh facts with eager judgment; and if thenThey appear true, surrender; if they seemA falsehood, gird yourself to prove them so.For since the sum of space outside, beyondThis world’s walls, must be infinite, the mind seeksTo reason as to what may else existYonder in regions whither the intellectIs constantly desiring to prospect,And whither the projection of our thoughtReaches in free flight of its own accord.

Now first of all we find that everywhereIn all directions, horizontally,Below and above throughout the universeThere is no limit, as I have demonstrated.Indeed the facts themselves proclaim the truth,And the deep void reveals its nature clearly.Since then on all sides vacant space extendsIllimitably, and seeds in countless numberAnd sum immeasurable flit to and froEternally driven on in manifold modesOf motion, we must deem it in no wiseProbable that this single globe of earthAnd this one heaven alone have been created,While outside all those particles of matterAre doing nothing: the more so that this worldWas formed by nature, as the seeds of things,Casually colliding of their ownSpontaneous motion, flocked in manifold waysTogether, vainly, without aim or result,Until at last such particles combinedAs, suddenly thrown together, might becomeFrom time to time the rudiments of great things,Earth, sea, sky, and the race of living creatures.Therefore beyond all question we are boundTo admit that elsewhere other aggregatesOf matter must exist, resembling thisWhich in its greedy embrace our aether holds.Moreover, when much matter is at hand,And space is there, nor any obstacleNor cause of hindrance, then you may be sureThings must be forming and dissolving there.Now if there be so vast a store of seedsThat the whole lifetime of all conscious beingsWould fail to count them, and if likewise natureAbides the same, and so can throw togetherThe seeds of things each into its own place,In the same manner as they were thrown togetherInto our world, then you must needs admitThat in other regions there are other earths,And diverse stocks of men and kinds of beasts.

Besides in the whole universe there existsNo one thing that is born unique, and growsUnique and sole; but it must needs belongTo one class, and there must be many othersOf the same kind. Consider first of allLive creatures: you will find that thus are bornThe mountain-ranging breeds of savage beasts,Thus the human race, thus also the dumb shoalsOf scaly fish and every flying fowl.Therefore by a like reasoning you must grantThat sky and earth and sun, moon, sea and allThat else exists, are not unique, but ratherOf number innumerable; since life’s deep-fixedBoundary stone as surely awaits these,And they are of a body that has birthAs much as any species here on earthAbounding in examples of its kind.

If you learn well and keep these truths in mind,Nature, forthwith enfranchised and releasedFrom her proud lords, is seen then to be actingIn all things of herself spontaneouslyWithout the interference of the gods.For by the holy breasts of those divinities,Who in calm peace are passing tranquil daysOf life untroubled, who, I ask, has powerTo rule the sum of space immeasurable?Or who to hold in his controlling handThe strong reins of the deep? Who can at onceMake all those various firmaments revolveAnd with the fires of aether warm each oneOf all those fruitful earths, or at all timesBe present in all places, so to causeDarkness by clouds, and shake the calms of heavenWith thunder, to hurl lightnings, and ofttimesShatter down his own temples, or withdrawTo desert regions, there to spend his furyAnd exercise his bolt, which often indeedPasses the guilty by, and strikes with deathThe unoffending who deserve it least.

Now since the birth-time of the world, since seaAnd earth’s first natal day and the sun’s origin,Many atoms have been added from without,Many seeds from all round, which, shooting themHither and thither, the great universeHas brought together: and by means of theseSea and land have been able to increase;Thus too the mansion of the sky has gainedNew spaciousness, and lifted its high roofFar above earth, and the air has risen with it.For to each thing its own appropriate atomsAre all distributed by blows from allRegions of space, so that they separateInto their proper elements. Moisture joinsWith moisture: earth from earthy substance grows;Fires generate fire, and ether ether,Till Nature, the creatress, consummatingHer labour, has brought all things to their lastLimit of growth; as happens, when at lengthThat which is entering the veins of lifeIs now no more than what is flowing awayAnd ebbing thence. In all things at this pointThe age of growth must halt: at this point natureCurbs increase by her powers. For all such thingsAs you may see waxing with joyous growth,And climbing step by step to matured ageReceive into themselves more particlesThan they discharge, so long as food is passingEasily into all their veins, and whileThey are not so widely spread as to throw offToo many atoms and to cause more wasteThan what their life requires for nourishment.For we must surely grant that many atomsAre flowing away from things and leaving them:But still more must be added, till at lengthThey have attained the highest pitch of growth.Then age little by little breaks their powersAnd their mature strength, as it wastes awayOn the worse side of life. And out of doubtThe bulkier and the wider a thing is,Once its growth ceases, the more particlesDoes it now shed around it and dischargeOn all sides: nor is food distributedEasily into all its veins, nor yetIn quantity sufficient that therefromA supply may continually rise upTo compensate the copious emanationsWhich it exhales. For there is need of foodTo preserve all things by renewing them:Food must uphold, food sustain everything:Yet all is to no purpose, since the veinsFail to convey what should suffice, nor yetDoes nature furnish all that is required.There is good reason therefore why all formsShould perish, when they are rarefied by fluxOf atoms, and succumb to external blows,Since food must fail advanced age in the end,And atoms cease not ever from outsideTo buffet each thing till they wear it outAnd overpower it by beleaguering blows.In this way then it is that the walls tooOf the great world from all sides shall be stormedAnd so collapsing crumble away to ruins.And even now already this world’s ageIs broken, and the worn-out earth can scarceCreate the tiniest animals, she who onceCreated every kind, and brought to birthThe huge shapes of wild beasts. For, as I think,Neither did any golden rope let downThe tribes of mortal creatures from the heightsOf heaven on to the fields, nor did the seaNor its waves beating on the rocks create them,But the same earth gave birth to them, which nowFeeds them from her own breast. At first moreoverHerself spontaneously did she createFlourishing crops and rich vines for mankind,Herself gave them sweet fruits and joyous pastures;Which now, though aided by our toil, scarce growTo any size. Thus we wear out our oxenAnd the strength of our peasants: we use upOur iron tools; yet hardly do we winA sustenance from the fields, so niggardlyThey grudge their produce and increase our toil.And now shaking his head the aged ploughmanSighs ever and anon, when he beholdsThe labours of his hands all spent in vain;And when with times past he compares the present,He praises often the fortune of his sire,Harping upon that ancient race of menWho rich in piety supported lifeUpon their narrow plots contentedly,Seeing the land allotted to each manWas far less in those days than now. So tooThe planter of the worn-out shrivelled vineDisconsolately inveighs against the marchOf time, wearying heaven with complaints,And understands not how all things are wastingLittle by little, and passing to the graveTired out by lengthening age and lapse of days.

Back to Index Next