BOOK II, lines 991-1174

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.