Читать книгу Translations from Lucretius - Тит Лукреций Кар - Страница 4

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Moreover we are sprung, all we that live,

From heavenly seed: there is, for all, that same

One father[C]; from whom when the bounteous Earth, Our mother, has drunk in the liquid drops Of moisture, then by him impregnated She bears bright crops and glad trees and the race Of men, bears every species of wild beast, Furnishing food with which all feed their bodies, And lead a pleasant life, and propagate Their offspring. Wherefore justly she has won The name of mother. Also that which once Came from the earth, sinks back into the earth, And what was sent down from the coasts of aether, Returning thither, is received once more Into the mansions of the sky. So death Does not demolish things in such a way As 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 change Their shapes, alter their colours, and receive Sensations, then in a moment yield them up. Thus you may learn how greatly it signifies Both with what others and in what positions The same primordial atoms are held bound; Also what motions they are mutually Imparting and receiving: and thus too You need no more suppose that what we see Hovering upon the surfaces of things, Or now being born, then suddenly perishing,[D] Can be inherent qualities in atoms That are eternal. Nay, in my verses even It is of moment with what other letters And in what order each one has been placed. If not all, yet by far the greater part Are similar letters: but as their position Varies, so do the words sound different. Thus too with actual things, whenever change Takes place in the collisions motions order Shape 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 urgently

To reach your ears, a new aspect of things

Would now reveal itself. But there is naught

So easy, that at first it will not seem

Difficult of belief, and likewise naught

So mighty, naught so wondrous, but that all

Little 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 moon

And the surpassing radiance of the sun;

If all these sights were now for the first time

To be revealed to mortals suddenly

And without warning, what could have been described

That would have seemed more marvellous than such things,

Or that humanity could less have dared

Beforehand to believe might come to pass?

Nothing, I think: so wonderful had been

This 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 mind

Terrified by mere novelty, but rather

Weigh facts with eager judgment; and if then

They appear true, surrender; if they seem

A falsehood, gird yourself to prove them so.

For since the sum of space outside, beyond

This world’s walls, must be infinite, the mind seeks

To reason as to what may else exist

Yonder in regions whither the intellect

Is constantly desiring to prospect,

And whither the projection of our thought

Reaches in free flight of its own accord.

Now first of all we find that everywhere

In all directions, horizontally,

Below and above throughout the universe

There 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 extends

Illimitably, and seeds in countless number

And sum immeasurable flit to and fro

Eternally driven on in manifold modes

Of motion, we must deem it in no wise

Probable that this single globe of earth

And this one heaven alone have been created,

While outside all those particles of matter

Are doing nothing: the more so that this world

Was formed by nature, as the seeds of things,

Casually colliding of their own

Spontaneous motion, flocked in manifold ways

Together, vainly, without aim or result,

Until at last such particles combined

As, suddenly thrown together, might become

From time to time the rudiments of great things,

Earth, sea, sky, and the race of living creatures.

Therefore beyond all question we are bound

To admit that elsewhere other aggregates

Of matter must exist, resembling this

Which in its greedy embrace our aether holds.

Moreover, when much matter is at hand,

And space is there, nor any obstacle

Nor cause of hindrance, then you may be sure

Things must be forming and dissolving there.

Now if there be so vast a store of seeds

That the whole lifetime of all conscious beings

Would fail to count them, and if likewise nature

Abides the same, and so can throw together

The seeds of things each into its own place,

In the same manner as they were thrown together

Into our world, then you must needs admit

That in other regions there are other earths,

And diverse stocks of men and kinds of beasts.

Besides in the whole universe there exists

No one thing that is born unique, and grows

Unique and sole; but it must needs belong

To one class, and there must be many others

Of the same kind. Consider first of all

Live creatures: you will find that thus are born

The mountain-ranging breeds of savage beasts,

Thus the human race, thus also the dumb shoals

Of scaly fish and every flying fowl.

Therefore by a like reasoning you must grant

That sky and earth and sun, moon, sea and all

That else exists, are not unique, but rather

Of number innumerable; since life’s deep-fixed

Boundary stone as surely awaits these,

And they are of a body that has birth

As much as any species here on earth

Abounding in examples of its kind.

If you learn well and keep these truths in mind,

Nature, forthwith enfranchised and released

From her proud lords, is seen then to be acting

In all things of herself spontaneously

Without the interference of the gods.

For by the holy breasts of those divinities,

Who in calm peace are passing tranquil days

Of life untroubled, who, I ask, has power

To rule the sum of space immeasurable?

Or who to hold in his controlling hand

The strong reins of the deep? Who can at once

Make all those various firmaments revolve

And with the fires of aether warm each one

Of all those fruitful earths, or at all times

Be present in all places, so to cause

Darkness by clouds, and shake the calms of heaven

With thunder, to hurl lightnings, and ofttimes

Shatter down his own temples, or withdraw

To desert regions, there to spend his fury

And exercise his bolt, which often indeed

Passes the guilty by, and strikes with death

The unoffending who deserve it least.

Now since the birth-time of the world, since sea

And earth’s first natal day and the sun’s origin,

Many atoms have been added from without,

Many seeds from all round, which, shooting them

Hither and thither, the great universe

Has brought together: and by means of these

Sea and land have been able to increase;

Thus too the mansion of the sky has gained

New spaciousness, and lifted its high roof

Far above earth, and the air has risen with it.

For to each thing its own appropriate atoms

Are all distributed by blows from all

Regions of space, so that they separate

Into their proper elements. Moisture joins

With moisture: earth from earthy substance grows;

Fires generate fire, and ether ether,

Till Nature, the creatress, consummating

Her labour, has brought all things to their last

Limit of growth; as happens, when at length

That which is entering the veins of life

Is now no more than what is flowing away

And ebbing thence. In all things at this point

The age of growth must halt: at this point nature

Curbs increase by her powers. For all such things

As you may see waxing with joyous growth,

And climbing step by step to matured age

Receive into themselves more particles

Than they discharge, so long as food is passing

Easily into all their veins, and while

They are not so widely spread as to throw off

Too many atoms and to cause more waste

Than what their life requires for nourishment.

For we must surely grant that many atoms

Are flowing away from things and leaving them:

But still more must be added, till at length

They have attained the highest pitch of growth.

Then age little by little breaks their powers

And their mature strength, as it wastes away

On the worse side of life. And out of doubt

The bulkier and the wider a thing is,

Once its growth ceases, the more particles

Does it now shed around it and discharge

On all sides: nor is food distributed

Easily into all its veins, nor yet

In quantity sufficient that therefrom

A supply may continually rise up

To compensate the copious emanations

Which it exhales. For there is need of food

To preserve all things by renewing them:

Food must uphold, food sustain everything:

Yet all is to no purpose, since the veins

Fail to convey what should suffice, nor yet

Does nature furnish all that is required.

There is good reason therefore why all forms

Should perish, when they are rarefied by flux

Of atoms, and succumb to external blows,

Since food must fail advanced age in the end,

And atoms cease not ever from outside

To buffet each thing till they wear it out

And overpower it by beleaguering blows.

In this way then it is that the walls too

Of the great world from all sides shall be stormed

And so collapsing crumble away to ruins.

And even now already this world’s age

Is broken, and the worn-out earth can scarce

Create the tiniest animals, she who once

Created every kind, and brought to birth

The huge shapes of wild beasts. For, as I think,

Neither did any golden rope let down

The tribes of mortal creatures from the heights

Of heaven on to the fields, nor did the sea

Nor its waves beating on the rocks create them,

But the same earth gave birth to them, which now

Feeds them from her own breast. At first moreover

Herself spontaneously did she create

Flourishing crops and rich vines for mankind,

Herself gave them sweet fruits and joyous pastures;

Which now, though aided by our toil, scarce grow

To any size. Thus we wear out our oxen

And the strength of our peasants: we use up

Our iron tools; yet hardly do we win

A sustenance from the fields, so niggardly

They grudge their produce and increase our toil.

And now shaking his head the aged ploughman

Sighs ever and anon, when he beholds

The 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 men

Who rich in piety supported life

Upon their narrow plots contentedly,

Seeing the land allotted to each man

Was far less in those days than now. So too

The planter of the worn-out shrivelled vine

Disconsolately inveighs against the march

Of time, wearying heaven with complaints,

And understands not how all things are wasting

Little by little, and passing to the grave

Tired out by lengthening age and lapse of days.