The cause too why days lengthen and nights wane,
While daylight shortens as the nights increase,
May either be because the same sun, journeying
Underneath and above the earth in curves
Of unlike length, parts the celestial regions
And into unequal halves divides his orbit:
Whatever he has subtracted from one half,
Just so much does he add, when he comes round,
On to the other half, till he has reached
That sign of heaven where the year’s node makes
The night’s shade equal to the light of day.
For in the sun’s mid course between the blasts
Of south wind and of north, the heaven holds
His turning-points apart at distances
Now equalised, since such is the position
Of the whole starry circle, to glide through which
The sun takes up the period of a year,
Lighting the earth and sky with slanting rays,
As is shown by the arguments of those
Who have mapped out all the quarters of the sky,
Adorned with their twelve signs spaced out in order.
Or else because the air in certain parts
Is thicker, therefore the trembling lamp of fire
Is hindered in its course beneath the earth,
And cannot easily force a passage through
And emerge at the place where it should rise.
So in winter-time the nights are long and lingering,
Ere the day’s radiant oriflamme comes forth.
Or else again those fires which cause the sun
To rise from a fixed point, for a like reason
Are wont to stream together slower or quicker
In alternating periods of the year.
So those would seem to speak the truth who hold
That every morning a new sun is born.
It may be the moon shines because she is struck
By the sun’s rays, and turns towards our eyes
A larger portion of this light each day,
The further she recedes from the sun’s orb,
Until over against him with full light
She has shone forth, and as she rises up
Has looked upon his setting from on high.
Thereafter in her gradual backward course
In the same manner she must hide her light,
The nearer she now glides to the sun’s fire
Travelling through the circle of the signs
From an opposite direction: as those hold
Who fancy that the moon is like a ball,
And moves along a course below the sun.
It is also possible that she revolves
With her own light, and yet shows varying
Phases of brightness: for there may well be
Another body which glides on beside her,
Obstructing and occulting her continually,
And yet cannot be seen, because it moves
Without light. Or perhaps she may turn round
Like a ball, let us say, whose sphere is tinged
With glowing light over one-half its surface;
And as she turns her sphere, she may present
Varying phases, till she has turned that side
Which glows with fire towards our gazing eyes;
Then she twists gradually back once more
And hides the luminous half of her round ball:
As the Chaldean sages seek to prove,
Refuting with their Babylonian doctrine
The opposing science of the astronomers;
Just as though what each sect is fighting for
Might not be true, or there were any reason
Why you should risk embracing the one creed
Less than the other. Again why every time
There should not be created a fresh moon,
With fixed succession of phases and fixed shapes,
So that each day this new-created moon
Would perish, and another in its stead
Be reproduced, this were no easy task
To prove by argument convincingly,
Since there can be so many things created
In fixed succession. Thus Spring goes its way,
And Venus, and the wingèd harbinger
Of Venus leads them on; while treading close
On Zephyr’s footsteps, mother Flora strews
The path before them, covering it all over
With every loveliest colour and rich scent.
Next in procession follows parching heat,
With dusty Ceres in its company,
And the Etesian blasts of the North winds.
After these Autumn comes, and by its side
Advances Euhius Euan,[G] following whom
The other Seasons with their winds appear,
Volturnus thundering on high, and Auster
Terrible with its lightnings. Then at length
December brings snow and renews numb frost.
Winter follows with teeth chattering for cold.
Wherefore it seems less wonderful that the moon
Should be begotten and destroyed again
At fixed times, seeing that so many things
Can come to pass at times so surely fixed.
Likewise the occultations of the sun
And the moon’s vanishings you must suppose
May be produced by many different causes.
For why should the moon be able to shut out
The earth from the sun’s light, and lift her head
On high to obstruct him from the earthward side,
Blocking his fiery beams with her dark orb,
And yet at the same time some other body
Gliding on without light continually
Should be supposed unable to do this?
Why too should not the sun at a fixed time
Grow faint and lose his fires, and then again
Revive his light, when he has had to pass
Through tracts of air so hostile to his flames
That awhile his fires are quenched by them and perish?
And why should the earth have power in turn to rob
The moon of light, and likewise keep the sun
Suppressed, while in her monthly course the moon
Glides through the clear-cut shadows of the cone,
And yet at the same time some other body
Should not have power to pass under the moon,
Or glide above the sun’s orb, breaking off
The beams of light he sheds? And furthermore,
If the moon shines with her own radiance,
Why in a certain region of the world
Might she not grow faint, while she makes her way
Through tracts that are unfriendly to her light?
Now since I have demonstrated how each thing
Might come to pass throughout the azure spaces
Of the great heaven, how we may know what force
Can cause the varying motions of the sun,
And wanderings of the moon, and in what way
Their light being intercepted they might vanish
Covering with darkness the astonished earth,
When as it were they close their eye of light,
And opening it again, survey all places
Radiant with shining brightness,—therefore now
I will go back to the world’s infancy
And the tender age of the world’s fields, and show
What in their first fecundity they resolved
To raise into the borders of the light
And give in charge unto the wayward winds.
In the beginning the Earth brought forth all kinds
Of plants and growing verdure on hillsides
And over all the plains: the flowering meadows
Shone with green colour: next to the various trees
Was given a mighty emulous impulse
To shoot up into the air with unchecked growth.
As feathers, hairs and bristles first are born
On limbs of quadrupeds and on the bodies
Of winged fowl, so the new Earth then put forth
Grasses and brushwood first, and afterwards
Gave birth to all the breeds of mortal things,
That sprang up many in number, in many modes
And divers fashions. For no animals
Can have dropped from the sky, nor can land-creatures
Have issued from the salt pools. Hence it is
That with good reason the Earth has won the name
Of Mother, since from the Earth all things are born.
And many living creatures even now
Rise from the soil, formed by rains, and the sun’s
Fierce heat. Therefore the less strange it appears
If then they arose more numerous and more large
Fostered by a new earth and atmosphere.
So first of all the varied families
And tribes of birds would leave their eggs, hatched out
In the spring season, as now the cicadas
In summer-time leave of their own accord
Their filmy skins in search of food and life.
Then was the time when first the Earth produced
The race of mortal men. For in the fields
Plenteous heat and moisture would abound,
So that wherever a fit place occurred,
Wombs would grow, fastened to the earth by roots:
And when the warmth of the infants in due time,
Avoiding moisture and demanding air,
Had broken these wombs open, then would Nature
Turn to that place the porous ducts of the Earth,
Compelling it to exude through open veins
A milk-like liquid, just as nowadays
After child-bearing every woman is filled
With sweet milk; for with her too the whole flow
Of nutriment sets streaming towards her breasts.
Earth to these children furnished food, the heat
Clothing, the grass a bed, well lined with rich
Luxuriance of soft down. Moreover then
The world in its fresh newness would give rise
Neither to rigorous cold nor extreme heat,
Nor violent storms of wind, for in a like
Proportion all things grow and gather strength.
Therefore again and yet again I say
That with good reason the Earth has won and keeps
The name of Mother, since she of herself
Gave birth to humankind, and at a period
Well nigh determined shed forth every beast
That roams o’er the great mountains far and wide,
Likewise the birds of air, many in shape.
But because she must have some limit set
To her time of bearing, she ceased, like a woman
Worn out by lapse of years. For Time transforms
The whole world’s nature, and all things must pass
From one condition to another: nothing
Continues like itself. All is in flux:
Nature is ever changing and compelling
All that exists to alter. For one thing
Moulders and wastes away grown weak with age,
And then another comes forth into light,
Issuing from obscurity. So thus Time
Changes the whole world’s nature, and the Earth
Passes from one condition to another:
So that what once it bore it can no longer,
And now can bear what it did not before.
And many monsters too did the Earth essay
To produce in those days, creatures arising
With marvellous face and limbs, the Hermaphrodite,
A thing of neither sex, between the two,
Differing from both: some things deprived of feet;
Others again with no hands; others dumb
Without mouths, or else blind for lack of eyes,
Or bound by limbs that everywhere adhered
Fast to their bodies, so that they could perform
No function, nor go anywhere, nor shun
Danger, nor take what their need might require.
Many such monstrous prodigies did Earth
Produce, in vain, since Nature banned their increase,
Nor could they reach the coveted flower of age,
Nor find food, nor be joined in bonds of love.
For we see numerous conditions first
Must meet together, before living things
Can beget and perpetuate their kind.
First they must have food, then a means by which
The seeds of birth may stream throughout the frame
From the relaxed limbs; also that the male
And female may unite, they must have that
Whereby each may exchange mutual joys.
And many breeds of creatures in those days
Must have died out, being powerless to beget
And perpetuate their kind. For those which now
You see breathing the breath of life, ’tis craft,
Or courage, or else speed, that from its origin
Must have protected and preserved each race.
Moreover many by their usefulness
Commended to us, continue to exist
Favoured by our protection. The fierce breed
Of lions first, and the other savage beasts,
Their courage has preserved, foxes their craft,
Stags their swift flight. But the light-slumbering hearts
Of faithful dogs, and the whole family
Born from the seed of burden-bearing beasts,
Also the woolly flocks and horned herds,
All these by man’s protection are preserved.
For their desire has always been to shun
Wild beasts and to live peaceably, supplied
Without toil of their own with food in plenty,
Which to reward their services we give them.
But those whom Nature has not thus endowed
With power either to live by their own means
Or else to render us such useful service
That in return we allow their race to feed
And dwell in safety beneath our guardianship,
All these, ’tis plain, would lie exposed a prey
To others, trammelled in their own fatal bonds,
Till Nature had extinguished that whole kind.
But Centaurs there have never been, nor yet
Ever can things exist of twofold nature
And double body moulded into one
From limbs of alien kind, whose faculties
And functions cannot be on either side
Sufficiently alike. That this is so,
The dullest intellect may be thus convinced.
Consider first that a horse after three years
Is in his flower of vigour, but a boy
By no means so: for often in sleep even then
Will he seek milk still from his mother’s breasts
Afterwards, when the horse’s lusty strength
Fails him in old age, and his limbs grow languid
As life ebbs, then first for a boy begins
The flowering time of youth, and clothes his cheeks
With soft down. Do not then believe that ever
From man’s and burden-bearing horse’s seed
Centaurs can be compounded and have being;
Nor yet Scyllas with half-fish bodies girdled
With raging dogs, and other suchlike things,
Whose limbs we see discordant with themselves,
Since neither do they reach their flower together,
Nor acquire bodily strength, nor in old age
Lose it at the same time: dissimilar
In each the love that burns them, and their modes
Of life incongruous: nor do the same things give
Their bodies pleasure. Thus we may often see
Bearded goats thrive on hemlock, which for man
Is virulent poison. Since moreover flame
Is wont to scorch and burn the tawny bodies
Of lions no less than every other kind
Of flesh and blood on earth, how could it be
That one, yet with a triple body, in front
A lion, behind a serpent, in the midst
Its goat’s self, a Chimaera should breathe forth
From such a body fierce flame at the mouth?
Therefore he who can fable that when earth
Was new and the sky young, such animals
Could have been propagated, resting alone
Upon this vain term, newness, he no doubt
Will babble out many follies in like fashion,
Will say that rivers then throughout the earth
Commonly flowed with gold, that trees were wont
To bloom with jewels, or that man was born
Of such huge bulk and force that he could wade
With giant strides across deep seas and turn
The whole heaven round about him with his hands.
For the fact that there were many seeds of things
Within the earth at that time when it first
Shed living creatures forth, is yet no proof
That beasts could have been born of mingled kinds,
Or limbs of different animals joined together;
Because the various families of plants,
The crops and thriving trees, which even now
Teem upward from the soil luxuriantly,
Can yet never be born woven together;
But each thing has its own process of growth:
All must preserve their mutual differences,
Governed by Nature’s irreversible law.
But that first race of men in the open fields
Was hardier far, (small wonder, since hard Earth
Had brought it forth,) built too around a frame
Of bones more large and solid, knit together
By powerful sinews; nor was it easily
Impaired by heat or cold, nor by strange foods,
Nor yet by any bodily disease.
And during many revolving periods
Of the sun through the sky, they lived their lives
After the roving habit of wild beasts.
No one was then the bent plough’s stalwart guide,
None yet had knowledge how to till the fields
With iron, or plant young saplings in the soil,
Nor how to lop old boughs from the tall trees
With pruning-hooks. What suns and rains had given,
What of her own free will Earth had brought forth,
Was enough bounty to content their hearts.
’Neath acorn-bearing oak-trees their wont was
To alleviate their hunger; and those berries
Which now upon the arbutus you see
Ripening to scarlet hues in winter-time,
The Earth then bore more plentifully and larger
Than in these days. Moreover then the world’s
Luxuriant youth gave birth to many kinds
Of coarse food, ample enough for wretched men.
But to allay their thirst rivers and springs
Invited, as now waters, tumbling down
From the great mountains with clear-sounding plash,
Summon from far the thirsting tribes of beasts.
Furthermore in their roamings they would visit
Those renowned silvan precincts of the Nymphs,
Caverns wherefrom they knew that copious streams,
Gushing forth smoothly, bathed the dripping rocks,
(The dripping rocks, o’er green moss trickling down,)
Or sometimes welled up over the level plain.
As yet they knew not how to employ fire,
Or to make use of skins, and clothe their bodies
With spoils of wild beasts; but inhabiting
Woods, mountains, caves and forests, they would shelter
Their squalid limbs in thickets, when compelled
To shun the buffeting of winds and rains.
No regard could they have to a general good,
Nor did they know how to make use in common
Of any laws or customs. Whatsoever
Fortune might set before him, that would each
Take as his prize, cunning to thrive and live
As best might please him, each one for himself.
And in the woods Venus would join the bodies
Of lovers, whether a mutual desire,
Or the man’s violence and vehement lust
Had won the woman over, or a bribe
Of acorns, arbute-berries or choice pears.
Endowed with marvellous strength of hands and feet
They chased the forest-roaming tribes of beasts;
And many with flung stones and ponderous club
They overcame, some few they would avoid
In hiding-places. And like bristly swine
Just as they were they flung their savage limbs
Naked upon the ground, when night o’ertook them,
Enveloping themselves with leaves and boughs.
Nor did they call for daylight and the sun
Wandering terror-stricken about the fields
With loud wails through the shadows of the night,
But silently, buried in sleep they lay
Waiting until the sun with rosy torch
Brought light into the sky. For since from childhood
They had been wont to see darkness and light
Alternately begotten without fail,
Never could they feel wonder or misgiving
Lest night eternal should possess the earth
And the sun’s light for ever be withdrawn.
But ’twas a worse anxiety that wild beasts
Often made sleep unsafe for these poor wretches.
For driven from their homes in sheltering rocks
They fled at the entrance of a foaming boar
Or strong lion, yielding up at dead of night
Their leaf-strewn beds in panic to fierce guests.
Yet no more often in those days than now
Would mortal men leave the sweet light of life
With lamentation. Each one by himself
Would doubtless be more likely then than now
To be seized and devoured by wild beasts’ teeth,
A living food, and with his groans would fill
Mountains and forests, while he saw his own
Live flesh in a live monument entombed.
But those whom flight had saved with mangled body,
From that time forth would hold their trembling hands
Over their noisome scars, with dreadful cries
Invoking death, till agonising throes
Rid them of life, with none to give them aid,
Ignorant of what wounds required. But then
A single day did not consign to death
Thousands on thousands, marshalled beneath standards,
Nor did the turbulent waters of the deep
Shatter upon the rocks both ships and men.
At that time vainly, without aim or result
The sea would often rise up and turmoil;
Nor could the winsome wiles of the calm deep
Lure men on treacherously with laughing waves,
While reckless seamanship was yet unknown.
Moreover lack of food would then consign
Their fainting limbs to death: now rather plenty
Sinks men to ruin. Often for themselves
Would they pour poison out unwittingly:
To others now with subtler skill they give it.
Afterwards, when they had learnt the use of huts,
And skins, and fire; when woman, joined with man
In wedlock, dwelt apart in one abode,
And they saw offspring born out of themselves,
Then first the human race began to soften.
For fire made their chilly bodies now
Less able to endure the cold beneath
The roof of heaven: Venus impaired their strength:
And children easily by their blandishments
Broke down the haughty temper of their parents.
Then too neighbours began to join in bonds
Of friendship, wishing neither to inflict
Nor suffer violence: and for womankind
And children they would claim kind treatment, pleading
With cries and gestures inarticulately
That all men ought to have pity on the weak.
And though harmony could not everywhere
Be established, yet the most part faithfully
Observed their covenants, or man’s whole race
Would even then have perished, nor till now
Could propagation have preserved their kind.