On the Nature of Things

ORIGINS OF VEGETABLE AND ANIMAL LIFE

     And now to what remains!—Since I've resolved     By what arrangements all things come to pass     Through the blue regions of the mighty world,—     How we can know what energy and cause     Started the various courses of the sun     And the moon's goings, and by what far means     They can succumb, the while with thwarted light,     And veil with shade the unsuspecting lands,     When, as it were, they blink, and then again     With open eye survey all regions wide,     Resplendent with white radiance—I do now     Return unto the world's primeval age     And tell what first the soft young fields of earth     With earliest parturition had decreed     To raise in air unto the shores of light     And to entrust unto the wayward winds.     In the beginning, earth gave forth, around     The hills and over all the length of plains,     The race of grasses and the shining green;     The flowery meadows sparkled all aglow     With greening colour, and thereafter, lo,     Unto the divers kinds of trees was given     An emulous impulse mightily to shoot,     With a free rein, aloft into the air.     As feathers and hairs and bristles are begot     The first on members of the four-foot breeds     And on the bodies of the strong-y-winged,     Thus then the new Earth first of all put forth     Grasses and shrubs, and afterward begat     The mortal generations, there upsprung—     Innumerable in modes innumerable—     After diverging fashions. For from sky     These breathing-creatures never can have dropped,     Nor the land-dwellers ever have come up     Out of sea-pools of salt. How true remains,     How merited is that adopted name     Of earth—"The Mother!"—since from out the earth     Are all begotten. And even now arise     From out the loams how many living things—     Concreted by the rains and heat of the sun.     Wherefore 'tis less a marvel, if they sprang     In Long Ago more many, and more big,     Matured of those days in the fresh young years     Of earth and ether. First of all, the race     Of the winged ones and parti-coloured birds,     Hatched out in spring-time, left their eggs behind;     As now-a-days in summer tree-crickets     Do leave their shiny husks of own accord,     Seeking their food and living. Then it was     This earth of thine first gave unto the day     The mortal generations; for prevailed     Among the fields abounding hot and wet.     And hence, where any fitting spot was given,     There 'gan to grow womb-cavities, by roots     Affixed to earth. And when in ripened time     The age of the young within (that sought the air     And fled earth's damps) had burst these wombs, O then     Would Nature thither turn the pores of earth     And make her spurt from open veins a juice     Like unto milk; even as a woman now     Is filled, at child-bearing, with the sweet milk,     Because all that swift stream of aliment     Is thither turned unto the mother-breasts.     There earth would furnish to the children food;     Warmth was their swaddling cloth, the grass their bed     Abounding in soft down. Earth's newness then     Would rouse no dour spells of the bitter cold,     Nor extreme heats nor winds of mighty powers—     For all things grow and gather strength through time     In like proportions; and then earth was young.     Wherefore, again, again, how merited     Is that adopted name of Earth—The Mother!—     Since she herself begat the human race,     And at one well-nigh fixed time brought forth     Each breast that ranges raving round about     Upon the mighty mountains and all birds     Aerial with many a varied shape.     But, lo, because her bearing years must end,     She ceased, like to a woman worn by eld.     For lapsing aeons change the nature of     The whole wide world, and all things needs must take     One status after other, nor aught persists     Forever like itself. All things depart;     Nature she changeth all, compelleth all     To transformation. Lo, this moulders down,     A-slack with weary eld, and that, again,     Prospers in glory, issuing from contempt.     In suchwise, then, the lapsing aeons change     The nature of the whole wide world, and earth     Taketh one status after other. And what     She bore of old, she now can bear no longer,     And what she never bore, she can to-day.     In those days also the telluric world     Strove to beget the monsters that upsprung     With their astounding visages and limbs—     The Man-woman—a thing betwixt the twain,     Yet neither, and from either sex remote—     Some gruesome Boggles orphaned of the feet,     Some widowed of the hands, dumb Horrors too     Without a mouth, or blind Ones of no eye,     Or Bulks all shackled by their legs and arms     Cleaving unto the body fore and aft,     Thuswise, that never could they do or go,     Nor shun disaster, nor take the good they would.     And other prodigies and monsters earth     Was then begetting of this sort—in vain,     Since Nature banned with horror their increase,     And powerless were they to reach unto     The coveted flower of fair maturity,     Or to find aliment, or to intertwine     In works of Venus. For we see there must     Concur in life conditions manifold,     If life is ever by begetting life     To forge the generations one by one:     First, foods must be; and, next, a path whereby     The seeds of impregnation in the frame     May ooze, released from the members all;     Last, the possession of those instruments     Whereby the male with female can unite,     The one with other in mutual ravishments.     And in the ages after monsters died,     Perforce there perished many a stock, unable     By propagation to forge a progeny.     For whatsoever creatures thou beholdest     Breathing the breath of life, the same have been     Even from their earliest age preserved alive     By cunning, or by valour, or at least     By speed of foot or wing. And many a stock     Remaineth yet, because of use to man,     And so committed to man's guardianship.     Valour hath saved alive fierce lion-breeds     And many another terrorizing race,     Cunning the foxes, flight the antlered stags.     Light-sleeping dogs with faithful heart in breast,     However, and every kind begot from seed     Of beasts of draft, as, too, the woolly flocks     And horned cattle, all, my Memmius,     Have been committed to guardianship of men.     For anxiously they fled the savage beasts,     And peace they sought and their abundant foods,     Obtained with never labours of their own,     Which we secure to them as fit rewards     For their good service. But those beasts to whom     Nature has granted naught of these same things—     Beasts quite unfit by own free will to thrive     And vain for any service unto us     In thanks for which we should permit their kind     To feed and be in our protection safe—     Those, of a truth, were wont to be exposed,     Enshackled in the gruesome bonds of doom,     As prey and booty for the rest, until     Nature reduced that stock to utter death.     But Centaurs ne'er have been, nor can there be     Creatures of twofold stock and double frame,     Compact of members alien in kind,     Yet formed with equal function, equal force     In every bodily part—a fact thou mayst,     However dull thy wits, well learn from this:     The horse, when his three years have rolled away,     Flowers in his prime of vigour; but the boy     Not so, for oft even then he gropes in sleep     After the milky nipples of the breasts,     An infant still. And later, when at last     The lusty powers of horses and stout limbs,     Now weak through lapsing life, do fail with age,     Lo, only then doth youth with flowering years     Begin for boys, and clothe their ruddy cheeks     With the soft down. So never deem, percase,     That from a man and from the seed of horse,     The beast of draft, can Centaurs be composed     Or e'er exist alive, nor Scyllas be—     The half-fish bodies girdled with mad dogs—     Nor others of this sort, in whom we mark     Members discordant each with each; for ne'er     At one same time they reach their flower of age     Or gain and lose full vigour of their frame,     And never burn with one same lust of love,     And never in their habits they agree,     Nor find the same foods equally delightsome—     Sooth, as one oft may see the bearded goats     Batten upon the hemlock which to man     Is violent poison. Once again, since flame     Is wont to scorch and burn the tawny bulks     Of the great lions as much as other kinds     Of flesh and blood existing in the lands,     How could it be that she, Chimaera lone,     With triple body—fore, a lion she;     And aft, a dragon; and betwixt, a goat—     Might at the mouth from out the body belch     Infuriate flame? Wherefore, the man who feigns     Such beings could have been engendered     When earth was new and the young sky was fresh     (Basing his empty argument on new)     May babble with like reason many whims     Into our ears: he'll say, perhaps, that then     Rivers of gold through every landscape flowed,     That trees were wont with precious stones to flower,     Or that in those far aeons man was born     With such gigantic length and lift of limbs     As to be able, based upon his feet,     Deep oceans to bestride or with his hands     To whirl the firmament around his head.     For though in earth were many seeds of things     In the old time when this telluric world     First poured the breeds of animals abroad,     Still that is nothing of a sign that then     Such hybrid creatures could have been begot     And limbs of all beasts heterogeneous     Have been together knit; because, indeed,     The divers kinds of grasses and the grains     And the delightsome trees—which even now     Spring up abounding from within the earth—     Can still ne'er be begotten with their stems     Begrafted into one; but each sole thing     Proceeds according to its proper wont     And all conserve their own distinctions based     In nature's fixed decree.

ORIGINS AND SAVAGE PERIOD OF MANKIND

                               But mortal man     Was then far hardier in the old champaign,     As well he should be, since a hardier earth     Had him begotten; builded too was he     Of bigger and more solid bones within,     And knit with stalwart sinews through the flesh,     Nor easily seized by either heat or cold,     Or alien food or any ail or irk.     And whilst so many lustrums of the sun     Rolled on across the sky, men led a life     After the roving habit of wild beasts.     Not then were sturdy guiders of curved ploughs,     And none knew then to work the fields with iron,     Or plant young shoots in holes of delved loam,     Or lop with hooked knives from off high trees     The boughs of yester-year. What sun and rains     To them had given, what earth of own accord     Created then, was boon enough to glad     Their simple hearts. Mid acorn-laden oaks     Would they refresh their bodies for the nonce;     And the wild berries of the arbute-tree,     Which now thou seest to ripen purple-red     In winter time, the old telluric soil     Would bear then more abundant and more big.     And many coarse foods, too, in long ago     The blooming freshness of the rank young world     Produced, enough for those poor wretches there.     And rivers and springs would summon them of old     To slake the thirst, as now from the great hills     The water's down-rush calls aloud and far     The thirsty generations of the wild.     So, too, they sought the grottos of the Nymphs—     The woodland haunts discovered as they ranged—     From forth of which they knew that gliding rills     With gush and splash abounding laved the rocks,     The dripping rocks, and trickled from above     Over the verdant moss; and here and there     Welled up and burst across the open flats.     As yet they knew not to enkindle fire     Against the cold, nor hairy pelts to use     And clothe their bodies with the spoils of beasts;     But huddled in groves, and mountain-caves, and woods,     And 'mongst the thickets hid their squalid backs,     When driven to flee the lashings of the winds     And the big rains. Nor could they then regard     The general good, nor did they know to use     In common any customs, any laws:     Whatever of booty fortune unto each     Had proffered, each alone would bear away,     By instinct trained for self to thrive and live.     And Venus in the forests then would link     The lovers' bodies; for the woman yielded     Either from mutual flame, or from the man's     Impetuous fury and insatiate lust,     Or from a bribe—as acorn-nuts, choice pears,     Or the wild berries of the arbute-tree.     And trusting wondrous strength of hands and legs,     They'd chase the forest-wanderers, the beasts;     And many they'd conquer, but some few they fled,     A-skulk into their hiding-places…     With the flung stones and with the ponderous heft     Of gnarled branch. And by the time of night     O'ertaken, they would throw, like bristly boars,     Their wildman's limbs naked upon the earth,     Rolling themselves in leaves and fronded boughs.     Nor would they call with lamentations loud     Around the fields for daylight and the sun,     Quaking and wand'ring in shadows of the night;     But, silent and buried in a sleep, they'd wait     Until the sun with rosy flambeau brought     The glory to the sky. From childhood wont     Ever to see the dark and day begot     In times alternate, never might they be     Wildered by wild misgiving, lest a night     Eternal should possess the lands, with light     Of sun withdrawn forever. But their care     Was rather that the clans of savage beasts     Would often make their sleep-time horrible     For those poor wretches; and, from home y-driven,     They'd flee their rocky shelters at approach     Of boar, the spumy-lipped, or lion strong,     And in the midnight yield with terror up     To those fierce guests their beds of out-spread leaves.     And yet in those days not much more than now     Would generations of mortality     Leave the sweet light of fading life behind.     Indeed, in those days here and there a man,     More oftener snatched upon, and gulped by fangs,     Afforded the beasts a food that roared alive,     Echoing through groves and hills and forest-trees,     Even as he viewed his living flesh entombed     Within a living grave; whilst those whom flight     Had saved, with bone and body bitten, shrieked,     Pressing their quivering palms to loathsome sores,     With horrible voices for eternal death—     Until, forlorn of help, and witless what     Might medicine their wounds, the writhing pangs     Took them from life. But not in those far times     Would one lone day give over unto doom     A soldiery in thousands marching on     Beneath the battle-banners, nor would then     The ramping breakers of the main seas dash     Whole argosies and crews upon the rocks.     But ocean uprisen would often rave in vain,     Without all end or outcome, and give up     Its empty menacings as lightly too;     Nor soft seductions of a serene sea     Could lure by laughing billows any man     Out to disaster: for the science bold     Of ship-sailing lay dark in those far times.     Again, 'twas then that lack of food gave o'er     Men's fainting limbs to dissolution: now     'Tis plenty overwhelms. Unwary, they     Oft for themselves themselves would then outpour     The poison; now, with nicer art, themselves     They give the drafts to others.

BEGINNINGS OF CIVILIZATION

                                    Afterwards,     When huts they had procured and pelts and fire,     And when the woman, joined unto the man,     Withdrew with him into one dwelling place,     Were known; and when they saw an offspring born     From out themselves, then first the human race     Began to soften. For 'twas now that fire     Rendered their shivering frames less staunch to bear,     Under the canopy of the sky, the cold;     And Love reduced their shaggy hardiness;     And children, with the prattle and the kiss,     Soon broke the parents' haughty temper down.     Then, too, did neighbours 'gin to league as friends,     Eager to wrong no more or suffer wrong,     And urged for children and the womankind     Mercy, of fathers, whilst with cries and gestures     They stammered hints how meet it was that all     Should have compassion on the weak. And still,     Though concord not in every wise could then     Begotten be, a good, a goodly part     Kept faith inviolate—or else mankind     Long since had been unutterably cut off,     And propagation never could have brought     The species down the ages.                            Lest, perchance,     Concerning these affairs thou ponderest     In silent meditation, let me say     'Twas lightning brought primevally to earth     The fire for mortals, and from thence hath spread     O'er all the lands the flames of heat. For thus     Even now we see so many objects, touched     By the celestial flames, to flash aglow,     When thunderbolt has dowered them with heat.     Yet also when a many-branched tree,     Beaten by winds, writhes swaying to and fro,     Pressing 'gainst branches of a neighbour tree,     There by the power of mighty rub and rub     Is fire engendered; and at times out-flares     The scorching heat of flame, when boughs do chafe     Against the trunks. And of these causes, either     May well have given to mortal men the fire.     Next, food to cook and soften in the flame     The sun instructed, since so oft they saw     How objects mellowed, when subdued by warmth     And by the raining blows of fiery beams,     Through all the fields.                          And more and more each day     Would men more strong in sense, more wise in heart,     Teach them to change their earlier mode and life     By fire and new devices. Kings began     Cities to found and citadels to set,     As strongholds and asylums for themselves,     And flocks and fields to portion for each man     After the beauty, strength, and sense of each—     For beauty then imported much, and strength     Had its own rights supreme. Thereafter, wealth     Discovered was, and gold was brought to light,     Which soon of honour stripped both strong and fair;     For men, however beautiful in form     Or valorous, will follow in the main     The rich man's party. Yet were man to steer     His life by sounder reasoning, he'd own     Abounding riches, if with mind content     He lived by thrift; for never, as I guess,     Is there a lack of little in the world.     But men wished glory for themselves and power     Even that their fortunes on foundations firm     Might rest forever, and that they themselves,     The opulent, might pass a quiet life—     In vain, in vain; since, in the strife to climb     On to the heights of honour, men do make     Their pathway terrible; and even when once     They reach them, envy like the thunderbolt     At times will smite, O hurling headlong down     To murkiest Tartarus, in scorn; for, lo,     All summits, all regions loftier than the rest,     Smoke, blasted as by envy's thunderbolts;     So better far in quiet to obey,     Than to desire chief mastery of affairs     And ownership of empires. Be it so;     And let the weary sweat their life-blood out     All to no end, battling in hate along     The narrow path of man's ambition;     Since all their wisdom is from others' lips,     And all they seek is known from what they've heard     And less from what they've thought. Nor is this folly     Greater to-day, nor greater soon to be,     Than' twas of old.                     And therefore kings were slain,     And pristine majesty of golden thrones     And haughty sceptres lay o'erturned in dust;     And crowns, so splendid on the sovereign heads,     Soon bloody under the proletarian feet,     Groaned for their glories gone—for erst o'er-much     Dreaded, thereafter with more greedy zest     Trampled beneath the rabble heel. Thus things     Down to the vilest lees of brawling mobs     Succumbed, whilst each man sought unto himself     Dominion and supremacy. So next     Some wiser heads instructed men to found     The magisterial office, and did frame     Codes that they might consent to follow laws.     For humankind, o'er wearied with a life     Fostered by force, was ailing from its feuds;     And so the sooner of its own free will     Yielded to laws and strictest codes. For since     Each hand made ready in its wrath to take     A vengeance fiercer than by man's fair laws     Is now conceded, men on this account     Loathed the old life fostered by force. 'Tis thence     That fear of punishments defiles each prize     Of wicked days; for force and fraud ensnare     Each man around, and in the main recoil     On him from whence they sprung. Not easy 'tis     For one who violates by ugly deeds     The bonds of common peace to pass a life     Composed and tranquil. For albeit he 'scape     The race of gods and men, he yet must dread     'Twill not be hid forever—since, indeed,     So many, oft babbling on amid their dreams     Or raving in sickness, have betrayed themselves     (As stories tell) and published at last     Old secrets and the sins.                              But nature 'twas     Urged men to utter various sounds of tongue     And need and use did mould the names of things,     About in same wise as the lack-speech years     Compel young children unto gesturings,     Making them point with finger here and there     At what's before them. For each creature feels     By instinct to what use to put his powers.     Ere yet the bull-calf's scarce begotten horns     Project above his brows, with them he 'gins     Enraged to butt and savagely to thrust.     But whelps of panthers and the lion's cubs     With claws and paws and bites are at the fray     Already, when their teeth and claws be scarce     As yet engendered. So again, we see     All breeds of winged creatures trust to wings     And from their fledgling pinions seek to get     A fluttering assistance. Thus, to think     That in those days some man apportioned round     To things their names, and that from him men learned     Their first nomenclature, is foolery.     For why could he mark everything by words     And utter the various sounds of tongue, what time     The rest may be supposed powerless     To do the same? And, if the rest had not     Already one with other used words,     Whence was implanted in the teacher, then,     Fore-knowledge of their use, and whence was given     To him alone primordial faculty     To know and see in mind what 'twas he willed?     Besides, one only man could scarce subdue     An overmastered multitude to choose     To get by heart his names of things. A task     Not easy 'tis in any wise to teach     And to persuade the deaf concerning what     'Tis needful for to do. For ne'er would they     Allow, nor ne'er in anywise endure     Perpetual vain dingdong in their ears     Of spoken sounds unheard before. And what,     At last, in this affair so wondrous is,     That human race (in whom a voice and tongue     Were now in vigour) should by divers words     Denote its objects, as each divers sense     Might prompt?—since even the speechless herds, aye, since     The very generations of wild beasts     Are wont dissimilar and divers sounds     To rouse from in them, when there's fear or pain,     And when they burst with joys. And this, forsooth,     'Tis thine to know from plainest facts: when first     Huge flabby jowls of mad Molossian hounds,     Baring their hard white teeth, begin to snarl,     They threaten, with infuriate lips peeled back,     In sounds far other than with which they bark     And fill with voices all the regions round.     And when with fondling tongue they start to lick     Their puppies, or do toss them round with paws,     Feigning with gentle bites to gape and snap,     They fawn with yelps of voice far other then     Than when, alone within the house, they bay,     Or whimpering slink with cringing sides from blows.     Again the neighing of the horse, is that     Not seen to differ likewise, when the stud     In buoyant flower of his young years raves,     Goaded by winged Love, amongst the mares,     And when with widening nostrils out he snorts     The call to battle, and when haply he     Whinnies at times with terror-quaking limbs?     Lastly, the flying race, the dappled birds,     Hawks, ospreys, sea-gulls, searching food and life     Amid the ocean billows in the brine,     Utter at other times far other cries     Than when they fight for food, or with their prey     Struggle and strain. And birds there are which change     With changing weather their own raucous songs—     As long-lived generations of the crows     Or flocks of rooks, when they be said to cry     For rain and water and to call at times     For winds and gales. Ergo, if divers moods     Compel the brutes, though speechless evermore,     To send forth divers sounds, O truly then     How much more likely 'twere that mortal men     In those days could with many a different sound     Denote each separate thing.                               And now what cause     Hath spread divinities of gods abroad     Through mighty nations, and filled the cities full     Of the high altars, and led to practices     Of solemn rites in season—rites which still     Flourish in midst of great affairs of state     And midst great centres of man's civic life,     The rites whence still a poor mortality     Is grafted that quaking awe which rears aloft     Still the new temples of gods from land to land     And drives mankind to visit them in throngs     On holy days—'tis not so hard to give     Reason thereof in speech. Because, in sooth,     Even in those days would the race of man     Be seeing excelling visages of gods     With mind awake; and in his sleeps, yet more—     Bodies of wondrous growth. And, thus, to these     Would men attribute sense, because they seemed     To move their limbs and speak pronouncements high,     Befitting glorious visage and vast powers.     And men would give them an eternal life,     Because their visages forevermore     Were there before them, and their shapes remained,     And chiefly, however, because men would not think     Beings augmented with such mighty powers     Could well by any force o'ermastered be.     And men would think them in their happiness     Excelling far, because the fear of death     Vexed no one of them at all, and since     At same time in men's sleeps men saw them do     So many wonders, and yet feel therefrom     Themselves no weariness. Besides, men marked     How in a fixed order rolled around     The systems of the sky, and changed times     Of annual seasons, nor were able then     To know thereof the causes. Therefore 'twas     Men would take refuge in consigning all     Unto divinities, and in feigning all     Was guided by their nod. And in the sky     They set the seats and vaults of gods, because     Across the sky night and the moon are seen     To roll along—moon, day, and night, and night's     Old awesome constellations evermore,     And the night-wandering fireballs of the sky,     And flying flames, clouds, and the sun, the rains,     Snow and the winds, the lightnings, and the hail,     And the swift rumblings, and the hollow roar     Of mighty menacings forevermore.     O humankind unhappy!—when it ascribed     Unto divinities such awesome deeds,     And coupled thereto rigours of fierce wrath!     What groans did men on that sad day beget     Even for themselves, and O what wounds for us,     What tears for our children's children! Nor, O man,     Is thy true piety in this: with head     Under the veil, still to be seen to turn     Fronting a stone, and ever to approach     Unto all altars; nor so prone on earth     Forward to fall, to spread upturned palms     Before the shrines of gods, nor yet to dew     Altars with profuse blood of four-foot beasts,     Nor vows with vows to link. But rather this:     To look on all things with a master eye     And mind at peace. For when we gaze aloft     Upon the skiey vaults of yon great world     And ether, fixed high o'er twinkling stars,     And into our thought there come the journeyings     Of sun and moon, O then into our breasts,     O'erburdened already with their other ills,     Begins forthwith to rear its sudden head     One more misgiving: lest o'er us, percase,     It be the gods' immeasurable power     That rolls, with varied motion, round and round     The far white constellations. For the lack     Of aught of reasons tries the puzzled mind:     Whether was ever a birth-time of the world,     And whether, likewise, any end shall be     How far the ramparts of the world can still     Outstand this strain of ever-roused motion,     Or whether, divinely with eternal weal     Endowed, they can through endless tracts of age     Glide on, defying the o'er-mighty powers     Of the immeasurable ages. Lo,     What man is there whose mind with dread of gods     Cringes not close, whose limbs with terror-spell     Crouch not together, when the parched earth     Quakes with the horrible thunderbolt amain,     And across the mighty sky the rumblings run?     Do not the peoples and the nations shake,     And haughty kings do they not hug their limbs,     Strook through with fear of the divinities,     Lest for aught foully done or madly said     The heavy time be now at hand to pay?     When, too, fierce force of fury-winds at sea     Sweepeth a navy's admiral down the main     With his stout legions and his elephants,     Doth he not seek the peace of gods with vows,     And beg in prayer, a-tremble, lulled winds     And friendly gales?—in vain, since, often up-caught     In fury-cyclones, is he borne along,     For all his mouthings, to the shoals of doom.     Ah, so irrevocably some hidden power     Betramples forevermore affairs of men,     And visibly grindeth with its heel in mire     The lictors' glorious rods and axes dire,     Having them in derision! Again, when earth     From end to end is rocking under foot,     And shaken cities ruin down, or threaten     Upon the verge, what wonder is it then     That mortal generations abase themselves,     And unto gods in all affairs of earth     Assign as last resort almighty powers     And wondrous energies to govern all?     Now for the rest: copper and gold and iron     Discovered were, and with them silver's weight     And power of lead, when with prodigious heat     The conflagrations burned the forest trees     Among the mighty mountains, by a bolt     Of lightning from the sky, or else because     Men, warring in the woodlands, on their foes     Had hurled fire to frighten and dismay,     Or yet because, by goodness of the soil     Invited, men desired to clear rich fields     And turn the countryside to pasture-lands,     Or slay the wild and thrive upon the spoils.     (For hunting by pit-fall and by fire arose     Before the art of hedging the covert round     With net or stirring it with dogs of chase.)     Howso the fact, and from what cause soever     The flamy heat with awful crack and roar     Had there devoured to their deepest roots     The forest trees and baked the earth with fire,     Then from the boiling veins began to ooze     O rivulets of silver and of gold,     Of lead and copper too, collecting soon     Into the hollow places of the ground.     And when men saw the cooled lumps anon     To shine with splendour-sheen upon the ground,     Much taken with that lustrous smooth delight,     They 'gan to pry them out, and saw how each     Had got a shape like to its earthy mould.     Then would it enter their heads how these same lumps,     If melted by heat, could into any form     Or figure of things be run, and how, again,     If hammered out, they could be nicely drawn     To sharpest points or finest edge, and thus     Yield to the forgers tools and give them power     To chop the forest down, to hew the logs,     To shave the beams and planks, besides to bore     And punch and drill. And men began such work     At first as much with tools of silver and gold     As with the impetuous strength of the stout copper;     But vainly—since their over-mastered power     Would soon give way, unable to endure,     Like copper, such hard labour. In those days     Copper it was that was the thing of price;     And gold lay useless, blunted with dull edge.     Now lies the copper low, and gold hath come     Unto the loftiest honours. Thus it is     That rolling ages change the times of things:     What erst was of a price, becomes at last     A discard of no honour; whilst another     Succeeds to glory, issuing from contempt,     And day by day is sought for more and more,     And, when 'tis found, doth flower in men's praise,     Objects of wondrous honour.                                Now, Memmius,     How nature of iron discovered was, thou mayst     Of thine own self divine. Man's ancient arms     Were hands, and nails and teeth, stones too and boughs—     Breakage of forest trees—and flame and fire,     As soon as known. Thereafter force of iron     And copper discovered was; and copper's use     Was known ere iron's, since more tractable     Its nature is and its abundance more.     With copper men to work the soil began,     With copper to rouse the hurly waves of war,     To straw the monstrous wounds, and seize away     Another's flocks and fields. For unto them,     Thus armed, all things naked of defence     Readily yielded. Then by slow degrees     The sword of iron succeeded, and the shape     Of brazen sickle into scorn was turned:     With iron to cleave the soil of earth they 'gan,     And the contentions of uncertain war     Were rendered equal.                        And, lo, man was wont     Armed to mount upon the ribs of horse     And guide him with the rein, and play about     With right hand free, oft times before he tried     Perils of war in yoked chariot;     And yoked pairs abreast came earlier     Than yokes of four, or scythed chariots     Whereinto clomb the men-at-arms. And next     The Punic folk did train the elephants—     Those curst Lucanian oxen, hideous,     The serpent-handed, with turrets on their bulks—     To dure the wounds of war and panic-strike     The mighty troops of Mars. Thus Discord sad     Begat the one Thing after other, to be     The terror of the nations under arms,     And day by day to horrors of old war     She added an increase.                         Bulls, too, they tried     In war's grim business; and essayed to send     Outrageous boars against the foes. And some     Sent on before their ranks puissant lions     With armed trainers and with masters fierce     To guide and hold in chains—and yet in vain,     Since fleshed with pell-mell slaughter, fierce they flew,     And blindly through the squadrons havoc wrought,     Shaking the frightful crests upon their heads,     Now here, now there. Nor could the horsemen calm     Their horses, panic-breasted at the roar,     And rein them round to front the foe. With spring     The infuriate she-lions would up-leap     Now here, now there; and whoso came apace     Against them, these they'd rend across the face;     And others unwitting from behind they'd tear     Down from their mounts, and twining round them, bring     Tumbling to earth, o'ermastered by the wound,     And with those powerful fangs and hooked claws     Fasten upon them. Bulls would toss their friends,     And trample under foot, and from beneath     Rip flanks and bellies of horses with their horns,     And with a threat'ning forehead jam the sod;     And boars would gore with stout tusks their allies,     Splashing in fury their own blood on spears     Splintered in their own bodies, and would fell     In rout and ruin infantry and horse.     For there the beasts-of-saddle tried to scape     The savage thrusts of tusk by shying off,     Or rearing up with hoofs a-paw in air.     In vain—since there thou mightest see them sink,     Their sinews severed, and with heavy fall     Bestrew the ground. And such of these as men     Supposed well-trained long ago at home,     Were in the thick of action seen to foam     In fury, from the wounds, the shrieks, the flight,     The panic, and the tumult; nor could men     Aught of their numbers rally. For each breed     And various of the wild beasts fled apart     Hither or thither, as often in wars to-day     Flee those Lucanian oxen, by the steel     Grievously mangled, after they have wrought     Upon their friends so many a dreadful doom.     (If 'twas, indeed, that thus they did at all:     But scarcely I'll believe that men could not     With mind foreknow and see, as sure to come,     Such foul and general disaster.—This     We, then, may hold as true in the great All,     In divers worlds on divers plan create,—     Somewhere afar more likely than upon     One certain earth.) But men chose this to do     Less in the hope of conquering than to give     Their enemies a goodly cause of woe,     Even though thereby they perished themselves,     Since weak in numbers and since wanting arms.     Now, clothes of roughly inter-plaited strands     Were earlier than loom-wove coverings;     The loom-wove later than man's iron is,     Since iron is needful in the weaving art,     Nor by no other means can there be wrought     Such polished tools—the treadles, spindles, shuttles,     And sounding yarn-beams. And nature forced the men,     Before the woman kind, to work the wool:     For all the male kind far excels in skill,     And cleverer is by much—until at last     The rugged farmer folk jeered at such tasks,     And so were eager soon to give them o'er     To women's hands, and in more hardy toil     To harden arms and hands.                         But nature herself,     Mother of things, was the first seed-sower     And primal grafter; since the berries and acorns,     Dropping from off the trees, would there beneath     Put forth in season swarms of little shoots;     Hence too men's fondness for ingrafting slips     Upon the boughs and setting out in holes     The young shrubs o'er the fields. Then would they try     Ever new modes of tilling their loved crofts,     And mark they would how earth improved the taste     Of the wild fruits by fond and fostering care.     And day by day they'd force the woods to move     Still higher up the mountain, and to yield     The place below for tilth, that there they might,     On plains and uplands, have their meadow-plats,     Cisterns and runnels, crops of standing grain,     And happy vineyards, and that all along     O'er hillocks, intervales, and plains might run     The silvery-green belt of olive-trees,     Marking the plotted landscape; even as now     Thou seest so marked with varied loveliness     All the terrain which men adorn and plant     With rows of goodly fruit-trees and hedge round     With thriving shrubberies sown.                                   But by the mouth     To imitate the liquid notes of birds     Was earlier far 'mongst men than power to make,     By measured song, melodious verse and give     Delight to ears. And whistlings of the wind     Athrough the hollows of the reeds first taught     The peasantry to blow into the stalks     Of hollow hemlock-herb. Then bit by bit     They learned sweet plainings, such as pipe out-pours,     Beaten by finger-tips of singing men,     When heard through unpathed groves and forest deeps     And woodsy meadows, through the untrod haunts     Of shepherd folk and spots divinely still.     Thus time draws forward each and everything     Little by little unto the midst of men,     And reason uplifts it to the shores of light.     These tunes would soothe and glad the minds of mortals     When sated with food,—for songs are welcome then.     And often, lounging with friends in the soft grass     Beside a river of water, underneath     A big tree's branches, merrily they'd refresh     Their frames, with no vast outlay—most of all     If the weather were smiling and the times of the year     Were painting the green of the grass around with flowers.     Then jokes, then talk, then peals of jollity     Would circle round; for then the rustic muse     Was in her glory; then would antic Mirth     Prompt them to garland head and shoulders about     With chaplets of intertwined flowers and leaves,     And to dance onward, out of tune, with limbs     Clownishly swaying, and with clownish foot     To beat our mother earth—from whence arose     Laughter and peals of jollity, for, lo,     Such frolic acts were in their glory then,     Being more new and strange. And wakeful men     Found solaces for their unsleeping hours     In drawing forth variety of notes,     In modulating melodies, in running     With puckered lips along the tuned reeds,     Whence, even in our day do the watchmen guard     These old traditions, and have learned well     To keep true measure. And yet they no whit     Do get a larger fruit of gladsomeness     Than got the woodland aborigines     In olden times. For what we have at hand—     If theretofore naught sweeter we have known—     That chiefly pleases and seems best of all;     But then some later, likely better, find     Destroys its worth and changes our desires     Regarding good of yesterday.                                  And thus     Began the loathing of the acorn; thus     Abandoned were those beds with grasses strewn     And with the leaves beladen. Thus, again,     Fell into new contempt the pelts of beasts—     Erstwhile a robe of honour, which, I guess,     Aroused in those days envy so malign     That the first wearer went to woeful death     By ambuscades,—and yet that hairy prize,     Rent into rags by greedy foemen there     And splashed by blood, was ruined utterly     Beyond all use or vantage. Thus of old     'Twas pelts, and of to-day 'tis purple and gold     That cark men's lives with cares and weary with war.     Wherefore, methinks, resides the greater blame     With us vain men to-day: for cold would rack,     Without their pelts, the naked sons of earth;     But us it nothing hurts to do without     The purple vestment, broidered with gold     And with imposing figures, if we still     Make shift with some mean garment of the Plebs.     So man in vain futilities toils on     Forever and wastes in idle cares his years—     Because, of very truth, he hath not learnt     What the true end of getting is, nor yet     At all how far true pleasure may increase.     And 'tis desire for better and for more     Hath carried by degrees mortality     Out onward to the deep, and roused up     From the far bottom mighty waves of war.     But sun and moon, those watchmen of the world,     With their own lanterns traversing around     The mighty, the revolving vault, have taught     Unto mankind that seasons of the years     Return again, and that the Thing takes place     After a fixed plan and order fixed.     Already would they pass their life, hedged round     By the strong towers; and cultivate an earth     All portioned out and boundaried; already     Would the sea flower and sail-winged ships;     Already men had, under treaty pacts,     Confederates and allies, when poets began     To hand heroic actions down in verse;     Nor long ere this had letters been devised—     Hence is our age unable to look back     On what has gone before, except where reason     Shows us a footprint.                          Sailings on the seas,     Tillings of fields, walls, laws, and arms, and roads,     Dress and the like, all prizes, all delights     Of finer life, poems, pictures, chiselled shapes     Of polished sculptures—all these arts were learned     By practice and the mind's experience,     As men walked forward step by eager step.     Thus time draws forward each and everything     Little by little into the midst of men,     And reason uplifts it to the shores of light.     For one thing after other did men see     Grow clear by intellect, till with their arts     They've now achieved the supreme pinnacle.