Proem
’Twas Athens first, the glorious in name,That whilom gave to hapless sons of menThe sheaves of harvest, and re-ordered life,And decreed laws; and she the first that gaveLife its sweet solaces, when she begatA man of heart so wise, who whilom pouredAll wisdom forth from his truth-speaking mouth;The glory of whom, though dead, is yet to-day,Because of those discoveries divineRenowned of old, exalted to the sky.For when saw he that well-nigh everythingWhich needs of man most urgently requireWas ready to hand for mortals, and that life,As far as might be, was established safe,That men were lords in riches, honour, praise,And eminent in goodly fame of sons,And that they yet, O yet, within the home,Still had the anxious heart which vexed lifeUnpausingly with torments of the mind,And raved perforce with angry plaints, then he,Then he, the master, did perceive that ’twasThe vessel itself which worked the bane, and all,However wholesome, which from here or thereWas gathered into it, was by that baneSpoilt from within,—in part, because he sawThe vessel so cracked and leaky that nowise‘T could ever be filled to brim; in part becauseHe marked how it polluted with foul tasteWhate’er it got within itself. So he,The master, then by his truth-speaking words,Purged the breasts of men, and set the boundsOf lust and terror, and exhibitedThe supreme good whither we all endeavour,And showed the path whereby we might arriveThereunto by a little cross-cut straight,And what of ills in all affairs of mortalsUpsprang and flitted deviously about(Whether by chance or force), since nature thusHad destined; and from out what gates a manShould sally to each combat. And he provedThat mostly vainly doth the human raceRoll in its bosom the grim waves of care.For just as children tremble and fear allIn the viewless dark, so even we at timesDread in the light so many things that beNo whit more fearsome than what children feign,Shuddering, will be upon them in the dark.This terror then, this darkness of the mind,Not sunrise with its flaring spokes of light,Nor glittering arrows of morning can disperse,But only nature’s aspect and her law.Wherefore the more will I go on to weaveIn verses this my undertaken task.
And since I’ve taught thee that the world’s great vaultsAre mortal and that sky is fashionedOf frame e’en born in time, and whatsoe’erTherein go on and must perforce go on
The most I have unravelled; what remainsDo thou take in, besides; since once for allTo climb into that chariot’ renowned
Of winds arise; and they appeased areSo that all things again…
Which were, are changed now, with fury stilled;All other movements through the earth and skyWhich mortals gaze upon (O anxious oftIn quaking thoughts!), and which abase their mindsWith dread of deities and press them crushedDown to the earth, because their ignoranceOf cosmic causes forces them to yieldAll things unto the empery of godsAnd to concede the kingly rule to them.For even those men who have learned full wellThat godheads lead a long life free of care,If yet meanwhile they wonder by what planThings can go on (and chiefly yon high thingsObserved o’erhead on the ethereal coasts),Again are hurried back unto the fearsOf old religion and adopt againHarsh masters, deemed almighty,—wretched men,Unwitting what can be and what cannot,And by what law to each its scope prescribed,Its boundary stone that clings so deep in Time.Wherefore the more are they borne wandering onBy blindfold reason. And, Memmius, unlessFrom out thy mind thou spuest all of thisAnd casteth far from thee all thoughts which beUnworthy gods and alien to their peace,Then often will the holy majestiesOf the high gods be harmful unto thee,As by thy thought degraded,—not, indeed,That essence supreme of gods could be by thisSo outraged as in wrath to thirst to seekRevenges keen; but even because thyselfThou plaguest with the notion that the gods,Even they, the Calm Ones in serene repose,Do roll the mighty waves of wrath on wrath;Nor wilt thou enter with a serene breastShrines of the gods; nor wilt thou able beIn tranquil peace of mind to take and knowThose images which from their holy bodiesAre carried into intellects of men,As the announcers of their form divine.What sort of life will follow after this’Tis thine to see. But that afar from usVeriest reason may drive such life away,Much yet remains to be embellished yetIn polished verses, albeit hath issued forthSo much from me already; lo, there isThe law and aspect of the sky to beBy reason grasped; there are the tempest timesAnd the bright lightnings to be hymned now—Even what they do and from what cause soe’erThey’re borne along—that thou mayst tremble not,Marking off regions of prophetic skiesFor auguries, O foolishly distraughtEven as to whence the flying flame hath come,Or to which half of heaven it turns, or howThrough walled places it hath wound its way,Or, after proving its dominion there,How it hath speeded forth from thence amain—Whereof nowise the causes do men know,And think divinities are working there.Do thou, Calliope, ingenious Muse,Solace of mortals and delight of gods,Point out the course before me, as I raceOn to the white line of the utmost goal,That I may get with signal praise the crown,With thee my guide!