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 bornFrom out themselves, then first the human raceBegan to soften. For ’twas now that fireRendered 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 womankindMercy, of fathers, whilst with cries and gesturesThey stammered hints how meet it was that allShould have compassion on the weak. And still,Though concord not in every wise could thenBegotten be, a good, a goodly partKept faith inviolate—or else mankindLong since had been unutterably cut off,And propagation never could have broughtThe species down the ages.
Lest, perchance,Concerning these affairs thou ponderestIn silent meditation, let me say’Twas lightning brought primevally to earthThe fire for mortals, and from thence hath spreadO’er all the lands the flames of heat. For thusEven now we see so many objects, touchedBy 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 rubIs fire engendered; and at times out-flaresThe scorching heat of flame, when boughs do chafeAgainst the trunks. And of these causes, eitherMay well have given to mortal men the fire.Next, food to cook and soften in the flameThe sun instructed, since so oft they sawHow objects mellowed, when subdued by warmthAnd by the raining blows of fiery beams,Through all the fields.
And more and more each dayWould men more strong in sense, more wise in heart,Teach them to change their earlier mode and lifeBy fire and new devices. Kings beganCities to found and citadels to set,As strongholds and asylums for themselves,And flocks and fields to portion for each manAfter the beauty, strength, and sense of each—For beauty then imported much, and strengthHad its own rights supreme. Thereafter, wealthDiscovered was, and gold was brought to light,Which soon of honour stripped both strong and fair;For men, however beautiful in formOr valorous, will follow in the mainThe rich man’s party. Yet were man to steerHis life by sounder reasoning, he’d ownAbounding riches, if with mind contentHe lived by thrift; for never, as I guess,Is there a lack of little in the world.But men wished glory for themselves and powerEven that their fortunes on foundations firmMight rest forever, and that they themselves,The opulent, might pass a quiet life—In vain, in vain; since, in the strife to climbOn to the heights of honour, men do makeTheir pathway terrible; and even when onceThey reach them, envy like the thunderboltAt times will smite, O hurling headlong downTo 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 affairsAnd ownership of empires. Be it so;And let the weary sweat their life-blood outAll to no end, battling in hate alongThe narrow path of man’s ambition;Since all their wisdom is from others’ lips,And all they seek is known from what they’ve heardAnd less from what they’ve thought. Nor is this follyGreater to-day, nor greater soon to be,Than’ twas of old.
And therefore kings were slain,And pristine majesty of golden thronesAnd 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-muchDreaded, thereafter with more greedy zestTrampled beneath the rabble heel. Thus thingsDown to the vilest lees of brawling mobsSuccumbed, whilst each man sought unto himselfDominion and supremacy. So nextSome wiser heads instructed men to foundThe magisterial office, and did frameCodes that they might consent to follow laws.For humankind, o’er wearied with a lifeFostered by force, was ailing from its feuds;And so the sooner of its own free willYielded to laws and strictest codes. For sinceEach hand made ready in its wrath to takeA vengeance fiercer than by man’s fair lawsIs now conceded, men on this accountLoathed the old life fostered by force. ’Tis thenceThat fear of punishments defiles each prizeOf wicked days; for force and fraud ensnareEach man around, and in the main recoilOn him from whence they sprung. Not easy ’tisFor one who violates by ugly deedsThe bonds of common peace to pass a lifeComposed and tranquil. For albeit he ’scapeThe race of gods and men, he yet must dread‘Twill not be hid forever—since, indeed,So many, oft babbling on amid their dreamsOr raving in sickness, have betrayed themselves(As stories tell) and published at lastOld secrets and the sins.
But nature ’twasUrged men to utter various sounds of tongueAnd need and use did mould the names of things,About in same wise as the lack-speech yearsCompel young children unto gesturings,Making them point with finger here and thereAt what’s before them. For each creature feelsBy instinct to what use to put his powers.Ere yet the bull-calf’s scarce begotten hornsProject above his brows, with them he ‘ginsEnraged to butt and savagely to thrust.But whelps of panthers and the lion’s cubsWith claws and paws and bites are at the frayAlready, when their teeth and claws be scarceAs yet engendered. So again, we seeAll breeds of winged creatures trust to wingsAnd from their fledgling pinions seek to getA fluttering assistance. Thus, to thinkThat in those days some man apportioned roundTo things their names, and that from him men learnedTheir first nomenclature, is foolery.For why could he mark everything by wordsAnd utter the various sounds of tongue, what timeThe rest may be supposed powerlessTo do the same? And, if the rest had notAlready one with other used words,Whence was implanted in the teacher, then,Fore-knowledge of their use, and whence was givenTo him alone primordial facultyTo know and see in mind what ’twas he willed?Besides, one only man could scarce subdueAn overmastered multitude to chooseTo get by heart his names of things. A taskNot easy ’tis in any wise to teachAnd to persuade the deaf concerning what’Tis needful for to do. For ne’er would theyAllow, nor ne’er in anywise endurePerpetual vain dingdong in their earsOf spoken sounds unheard before. And what,At last, in this affair so wondrous is,That human race (in whom a voice and tongueWere now in vigour) should by divers wordsDenote its objects, as each divers senseMight prompt?—since even the speechless herds, aye, sinceThe very generations of wild beastsAre wont dissimilar and divers soundsTo 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 firstHuge 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 barkAnd fill with voices all the regions round.And when with fondling tongue they start to lickTheir puppies, or do toss them round with paws,Feigning with gentle bites to gape and snap,They fawn with yelps of voice far other thenThan when, alone within the house, they bay,Or whimpering slink with cringing sides from blows.Again the neighing of the horse, is thatNot seen to differ likewise, when the studIn buoyant flower of his young years raves,Goaded by winged Love, amongst the mares,And when with widening nostrils out he snortsThe call to battle, and when haply heWhinnies at times with terror-quaking limbs?Lastly, the flying race, the dappled birds,Hawks, ospreys, sea-gulls, searching food and lifeAmid the ocean billows in the brine,Utter at other times far other criesThan when they fight for food, or with their preyStruggle and strain. And birds there are which changeWith changing weather their own raucous songs—As long-lived generations of the crowsOr flocks of rooks, when they be said to cryFor rain and water and to call at timesFor winds and gales. Ergo, if divers moodsCompel the brutes, though speechless evermore,To send forth divers sounds, O truly thenHow much more likely ‘twere that mortal menIn those days could with many a different soundDenote each separate thing.
And now what causeHath spread divinities of gods abroadThrough mighty nations, and filled the cities fullOf the high altars, and led to practicesOf solemn rites in season—rites which stillFlourish in midst of great affairs of stateAnd midst great centres of man’s civic life,The rites whence still a poor mortalityIs grafted that quaking awe which rears aloftStill the new temples of gods from land to landAnd drives mankind to visit them in throngsOn holy days—’tis not so hard to giveReason thereof in speech. Because, in sooth,Even in those days would the race of manBe seeing excelling visages of godsWith mind awake; and in his sleeps, yet more—Bodies of wondrous growth. And, thus, to theseWould men attribute sense, because they seemedTo move their limbs and speak pronouncements high,Befitting glorious visage and vast powers.And men would give them an eternal life,Because their visages forevermoreWere there before them, and their shapes remained,And chiefly, however, because men would not thinkBeings augmented with such mighty powersCould well by any force o’ermastered be.And men would think them in their happinessExcelling far, because the fear of deathVexed no one of them at all, and sinceAt same time in men’s sleeps men saw them doSo many wonders, and yet feel therefromThemselves no weariness. Besides, men markedHow in a fixed order rolled aroundThe systems of the sky, and changed timesOf annual seasons, nor were able thenTo know thereof the causes. Therefore ’twasMen would take refuge in consigning allUnto divinities, and in feigning allWas guided by their nod. And in the skyThey set the seats and vaults of gods, becauseAcross the sky night and the moon are seenTo roll along—moon, day, and night, and night’sOld 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 roarOf mighty menacings forevermore.
O humankind unhappy!—when it ascribedUnto divinities such awesome deeds,And coupled thereto rigours of fierce wrath!What groans did men on that sad day begetEven 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 headUnder the veil, still to be seen to turnFronting a stone, and ever to approachUnto all altars; nor so prone on earthForward to fall, to spread upturned palmsBefore the shrines of gods, nor yet to dewAltars with profuse blood of four-foot beasts,Nor vows with vows to link. But rather this:To look on all things with a master eyeAnd mind at peace. For when we gaze aloftUpon the skiey vaults of yon great worldAnd ether, fixed high o’er twinkling stars,And into our thought there come the journeyingsOf sun and moon, O then into our breasts,O’erburdened already with their other ills,Begins forthwith to rear its sudden headOne more misgiving: lest o’er us, percase,It be the gods’ immeasurable powerThat rolls, with varied motion, round and roundThe far white constellations. For the lackOf aught of reasons tries the puzzled mind:Whether was ever a birth-time of the world,And whether, likewise, any end shall beHow far the ramparts of the world can stillOutstand this strain of ever-roused motion,Or whether, divinely with eternal wealEndowed, they can through endless tracts of ageGlide on, defying the o’er-mighty powersOf the immeasurable ages. Lo,What man is there whose mind with dread of godsCringes not close, whose limbs with terror-spellCrouch not together, when the parched earthQuakes 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 saidThe heavy time be now at hand to pay?When, too, fierce force of fury-winds at seaSweepeth a navy’s admiral down the mainWith his stout legions and his elephants,Doth he not seek the peace of gods with vows,And beg in prayer, a-tremble, lulled windsAnd friendly gales?—in vain, since, often up-caughtIn fury-cyclones, is he borne along,For all his mouthings, to the shoals of doom.Ah, so irrevocably some hidden powerBetramples forevermore affairs of men,And visibly grindeth with its heel in mireThe lictors’ glorious rods and axes dire,Having them in derision! Again, when earthFrom end to end is rocking under foot,And shaken cities ruin down, or threatenUpon the verge, what wonder is it thenThat mortal generations abase themselves,And unto gods in all affairs of earthAssign as last resort almighty powersAnd wondrous energies to govern all?
Now for the rest: copper and gold and ironDiscovered were, and with them silver’s weightAnd power of lead, when with prodigious heatThe conflagrations burned the forest treesAmong the mighty mountains, by a boltOf lightning from the sky, or else becauseMen, warring in the woodlands, on their foesHad hurled fire to frighten and dismay,Or yet because, by goodness of the soilInvited, men desired to clear rich fieldsAnd turn the countryside to pasture-lands,Or slay the wild and thrive upon the spoils.(For hunting by pit-fall and by fire aroseBefore the art of hedging the covert roundWith net or stirring it with dogs of chase.)Howso the fact, and from what cause soeverThe flamy heat with awful crack and roarHad there devoured to their deepest rootsThe forest trees and baked the earth with fire,Then from the boiling veins began to oozeO rivulets of silver and of gold,Of lead and copper too, collecting soonInto the hollow places of the ground.And when men saw the cooled lumps anonTo shine with splendour-sheen upon the ground,Much taken with that lustrous smooth delight,They ‘gan to pry them out, and saw how eachHad 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 formOr figure of things be run, and how, again,If hammered out, they could be nicely drawnTo sharpest points or finest edge, and thusYield to the forgers tools and give them powerTo chop the forest down, to hew the logs,To shave the beams and planks, besides to boreAnd punch and drill. And men began such workAt first as much with tools of silver and goldAs with the impetuous strength of the stout copper;But vainly—since their over-mastered powerWould soon give way, unable to endure,Like copper, such hard labour. In those daysCopper it was that was the thing of price;And gold lay useless, blunted with dull edge.Now lies the copper low, and gold hath comeUnto the loftiest honours. Thus it isThat rolling ages change the times of things:What erst was of a price, becomes at lastA discard of no honour; whilst anotherSucceeds 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 maystOf thine own self divine. Man’s ancient armsWere hands, and nails and teeth, stones too and boughs—Breakage of forest trees—and flame and fire,As soon as known. Thereafter force of ironAnd copper discovered was; and copper’s useWas known ere iron’s, since more tractableIts 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 awayAnother’s flocks and fields. For unto them,Thus armed, all things naked of defenceReadily yielded. Then by slow degreesThe sword of iron succeeded, and the shapeOf brazen sickle into scorn was turned:With iron to cleave the soil of earth they ‘gan,And the contentions of uncertain warWere rendered equal.
And, lo, man was wontArmed to mount upon the ribs of horseAnd guide him with the rein, and play aboutWith right hand free, oft times before he triedPerils of war in yoked chariot;And yoked pairs abreast came earlierThan yokes of four, or scythed chariotsWhereinto clomb the men-at-arms. And nextThe 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-strikeThe mighty troops of Mars. Thus Discord sadBegat the one Thing after other, to beThe terror of the nations under arms,And day by day to horrors of old warShe added an increase.
Bulls, too, they triedIn war’s grim business; and essayed to sendOutrageous boars against the foes. And someSent on before their ranks puissant lionsWith armed trainers and with masters fierceTo 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 calmTheir horses, panic-breasted at the roar,And rein them round to front the foe. With springThe infuriate she-lions would up-leapNow here, now there; and whoso came apaceAgainst them, these they’d rend across the face;And others unwitting from behind they’d tearDown from their mounts, and twining round them, bringTumbling to earth, o’ermastered by the wound,And with those powerful fangs and hooked clawsFasten upon them. Bulls would toss their friends,And trample under foot, and from beneathRip 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 spearsSplintered in their own bodies, and would fellIn rout and ruin infantry and horse.For there the beasts-of-saddle tried to scapeThe 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 fallBestrew the ground. And such of these as menSupposed well-trained long ago at home,Were in the thick of action seen to foamIn fury, from the wounds, the shrieks, the flight,The panic, and the tumult; nor could menAught of their numbers rally. For each breedAnd various of the wild beasts fled apartHither or thither, as often in wars to-dayFlee those Lucanian oxen, by the steelGrievously mangled, after they have wroughtUpon their friends so many a dreadful doom.(If ’twas, indeed, that thus they did at all:But scarcely I’ll believe that men could notWith mind foreknow and see, as sure to come,Such foul and general disaster.—ThisWe, then, may hold as true in the great All,In divers worlds on divers plan create,—Somewhere afar more likely than uponOne certain earth.) But men chose this to doLess in the hope of conquering than to giveTheir 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 strandsWere 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 wroughtSuch 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 lastThe rugged farmer folk jeered at such tasks,And so were eager soon to give them o’erTo women’s hands, and in more hardy toilTo harden arms and hands.
But nature herself,Mother of things, was the first seed-sowerAnd primal grafter; since the berries and acorns,Dropping from off the trees, would there beneathPut forth in season swarms of little shoots;Hence too men’s fondness for ingrafting slipsUpon the boughs and setting out in holesThe young shrubs o’er the fields. Then would they tryEver new modes of tilling their loved crofts,And mark they would how earth improved the tasteOf the wild fruits by fond and fostering care.And day by day they’d force the woods to moveStill higher up the mountain, and to yieldThe 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 alongO’er hillocks, intervales, and plains might runThe silvery-green belt of olive-trees,Marking the plotted landscape; even as nowThou seest so marked with varied lovelinessAll the terrain which men adorn and plantWith rows of goodly fruit-trees and hedge roundWith thriving shrubberies sown.
But by the mouthTo imitate the liquid notes of birdsWas earlier far ‘mongst men than power to make,By measured song, melodious verse and giveDelight to ears. And whistlings of the windAthrough the hollows of the reeds first taughtThe peasantry to blow into the stalksOf hollow hemlock-herb. Then bit by bitThey learned sweet plainings, such as pipe out-pours,Beaten by finger-tips of singing men,When heard through unpathed groves and forest deepsAnd woodsy meadows, through the untrod hauntsOf shepherd folk and spots divinely still.Thus time draws forward each and everythingLittle 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 mortalsWhen sated with food,—for songs are welcome then.And often, lounging with friends in the soft grassBeside a river of water, underneathA big tree’s branches, merrily they’d refreshTheir frames, with no vast outlay—most of allIf the weather were smiling and the times of the yearWere painting the green of the grass around with flowers.Then jokes, then talk, then peals of jollityWould circle round; for then the rustic museWas in her glory; then would antic MirthPrompt them to garland head and shoulders aboutWith chaplets of intertwined flowers and leaves,And to dance onward, out of tune, with limbsClownishly swaying, and with clownish footTo beat our mother earth—from whence aroseLaughter and peals of jollity, for, lo,Such frolic acts were in their glory then,Being more new and strange. And wakeful menFound solaces for their unsleeping hoursIn drawing forth variety of notes,In modulating melodies, in runningWith puckered lips along the tuned reeds,Whence, even in our day do the watchmen guardThese old traditions, and have learned wellTo keep true measure. And yet they no whitDo get a larger fruit of gladsomenessThan got the woodland aboriginesIn 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, findDestroys its worth and changes our desiresRegarding good of yesterday.
And thusBegan the loathing of the acorn; thusAbandoned were those beds with grasses strewnAnd 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 malignThat the first wearer went to woeful deathBy ambuscades,—and yet that hairy prize,Rent into rags by greedy foemen thereAnd splashed by blood, was ruined utterlyBeyond all use or vantage. Thus of old’Twas pelts, and of to-day ’tis purple and goldThat cark men’s lives with cares and weary with war.Wherefore, methinks, resides the greater blameWith us vain men to-day: for cold would rack,Without their pelts, the naked sons of earth;But us it nothing hurts to do withoutThe purple vestment, broidered with goldAnd with imposing figures, if we stillMake shift with some mean garment of the Plebs.So man in vain futilities toils onForever and wastes in idle cares his years—Because, of very truth, he hath not learntWhat the true end of getting is, nor yetAt all how far true pleasure may increase.And ’tis desire for better and for moreHath carried by degrees mortalityOut onward to the deep, and roused upFrom the far bottom mighty waves of war.
But sun and moon, those watchmen of the world,With their own lanterns traversing aroundThe mighty, the revolving vault, have taughtUnto mankind that seasons of the yearsReturn again, and that the Thing takes placeAfter a fixed plan and order fixed.
Already would they pass their life, hedged roundBy the strong towers; and cultivate an earthAll portioned out and boundaried; alreadyWould the sea flower and sail-winged ships;Already men had, under treaty pacts,Confederates and allies, when poets beganTo hand heroic actions down in verse;Nor long ere this had letters been devised—Hence is our age unable to look backOn what has gone before, except where reasonShows us a footprint.
Sailings on the seas,Tillings of fields, walls, laws, and arms, and roads,Dress and the like, all prizes, all delightsOf finer life, poems, pictures, chiselled shapesOf polished sculptures—all these arts were learnedBy practice and the mind’s experience,As men walked forward step by eager step.Thus time draws forward each and everythingLittle by little into the midst of men,And reason uplifts it to the shores of light.For one thing after other did men seeGrow clear by intellect, till with their artsThey’ve now achieved the supreme pinnacle.