On the Nature of Things. Тит Лукреций Кар

Being one unit from nature of its parts,

           Are borne to that one place on which they strive

           Still to lay hold, must then, beyond a doubt,

           Outstrip in speed, and be more swiftly borne

           Than light of sun, and over regions rush,

           Of space much vaster, in the self-same time

           The sun's effulgence widens round the sky.

           Nor to pursue the atoms one by one,

           To see the law whereby each thing goes on.

           But some men, ignorant of matter, think,

           Opposing this, that not without the gods,

           In such adjustment to our human ways,

           Can nature change the seasons of the years,

           And bring to birth the grains and all of else

           To which divine Delight, the guide of life,

           Persuades mortality and leads it on,

           That, through her artful blandishments of love,

           It propagate the generations still,

           Lest humankind should perish. When they feign

           That gods have stablished all things but for man,

           They seem in all ways mightily to lapse

           From reason's truth: for ev'n if ne'er I knew

           What seeds primordial are, yet would I dare

           This to affirm, ev'n from deep judgment based

           Upon the ways and conduct of the skies—

           This to maintain by many a fact besides—

           That in no wise the nature of the world

           For us was builded by a power divine—

           So great the faults it stands encumbered with:

           The which, my Memmius, later on, for thee

           We will clear up. Now as to what remains

           Concerning motions we'll unfold our thought.

           Now is the place, meseems, in these affairs

           To prove for thee this too: nothing corporeal

           Of its own force can e'er be upward borne,

           Or upward go—nor let the bodies of flames

           Deceive thee here: for they engendered are

           With urge to upwards, taking thus increase,

           Whereby grow upwards shining grains and trees,

           Though all the weight within them downward bears.

           Nor, when the fires will leap from under round

           The roofs of houses, and swift flame laps up

           Timber and beam, 'tis then to be supposed

           They act of own accord, no force beneath

           To urge them up. 'Tis thus that blood, discharged

           From out our bodies, spurts its jets aloft

           And spatters gore. And hast thou never marked

           With what a force the water will disgorge

           Timber and beam? The deeper, straight and down,

           We push them in, and, many though we be,

           The more we press with main and toil, the more

           The water vomits up and flings them back,

           That, more than half their length, they there emerge,

           Rebounding. Yet we never doubt, meseems,

           That all the weight within them downward bears

           Through empty void. Well, in like manner, flames

           Ought also to be able, when pressed out,

           Through winds of air to rise aloft, even though

           The weight within them strive to draw them down.

           Hast thou not seen, sweeping so far and high,

           The meteors, midnight flambeaus of the sky,

           How after them they draw long trails of flame

           Wherever Nature gives a thoroughfare?

           How stars and constellations drop to earth,

           Seest not? Nay, too, the sun from peak of heaven

           Sheds round to every quarter its large heat,

           And sows the new-ploughed intervales with light:

           Thus also sun's heat downward tends to earth.

           Athwart the rain thou seest the lightning fly;

           Now here, now there, bursting from out the clouds,

           The fires dash zig-zag—and that flaming power

           Falls likewise down to earth.

                                       In these affairs

           We wish thee also well aware of this:

           The atoms, as their own weight bears them down

           Plumb through the void, at scarce determined times,

           In scarce determined places, from their course

           Decline a little—call it, so to speak,

           Mere changed trend. For were it not their wont

           Thuswise to swerve, down would they fall, each one,

           Like drops of rain, through the unbottomed void;

           And then collisions ne'er could be nor blows

           Among the primal elements; and thus

           Nature would never have created aught.

           But, if perchance be any that believe

           The heavier bodies, as more swiftly borne

           Plumb down the void, are able from above

           To strike the lighter, thus engendering blows

           Able to cause those procreant motions, far

           From highways of true reason they retire.

           For whatsoever through the waters fall,

           Or through thin air, must quicken their descent,

           Each after its weight—on this account, because

           Both bulk of water and the subtle air

           By no means can retard each thing alike,

           But give more quick before the heavier weight;

           But contrariwise the empty void cannot,

           On any side, at any time, to aught

           Oppose resistance, but will ever yield,

           True