Translations from Lucretius
9781465653024
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
Thou mother of the Aenead race, delight Of men and deities, bountiful Venus, thou Who under the sky’s gliding constellations Fillest ship-carrying ocean with thy presence And the corn-bearing lands, since through thy power Each kind of living creature is conceived Then riseth and beholdeth the sun’s light: Before thee and thine advent the winds and clouds Of heaven take flight, O goddess: daedal earth Puts forth sweet-scented flowers beneath thy feet: Beholding thee the smooth deep laughs, the sky Grows calm and shines with wide-outspreading light. For soon as the day’s vernal countenance Has been revealed, and fresh from wintry bonds Blows the birth-giving breeze of the West wind, First do the birds of air give sign of thee, Goddess, and thine approach, as through their hearts Thine influence smites. Next the wild herds of beasts Bound over the rich pastures and swim through The rapid streams, as captured by thy charm Each one with eager longing follows thee Whithersoever thou wouldst lure them on. And thus through seas, mountains and rushing rivers, Through the birds’ leafy homes and the green plains, Striking bland love into the hearts of all, Thou art the cause that following his lust Each should renew his race after his kind. Therefore since thou alone art nature’s mistress, And since without thine aid naught can rise forth Into the glorious regions of the light, Nor aught grow to be gladsome and delectable, Thee would I win to help me while I write These verses, wherein I labour to describe The nature of things in honour of my friend This scion of the Memmian house, whom thou Hast willed to be found peerless all his days In every grace. Therefore the more, great deity, Grant to my words eternal loveliness: Cause meanwhile that the savage works of warfare Over all seas and lands sink hushed to rest. For thou alone hast power to bless mankind With tranquil peace; since of war’s savage works Mavors mighty in battle hath control, Who oft flings himself back upon thy lap, Quite vanquished by love’s never-healing wound; And so with upturned face and shapely neck Thrown backward, feeds with love his hungry looks, Gazing on thee, goddess, while thus he lies Supine, and on thy lips his spirit hangs. O’er him thus couched upon thy holy body Do thou bend down to enfold him, and from thy lips Pour tender speech, petitioning calm peace, O glorious divinity, for thy Romans. For nor can we in our country’s hour of trouble Toil with a mind untroubled at our task, Nor yet may the famed child of Memmius Be spared from public service in such times.
