Who could sustain that burden, who succeed
So great a king? Fame, herald of the truth,
Selects the famous Numa for the throne.
It was not enough for him to know the customs
Of Sabines only, for his generous spirit
Sought wider fields, the general laws of Nature.
This passion led him far from his own town,
Cures, on to Crotona, which once gave
Welcome to Hercules, and there King Numa
Asked who had been the founder of that city,
Greek on Italian soil, and one old man,
Who knew the ancient legends, gave the answer:
"Hercules, so men say, came from the ocean,
Enriched with Spanish oxen, and good luck
Brought him to this Lacinian coast, and here
His cattle grazed on tender grass, and he
Entered great Croton's friendly house, and rested
>From his long labors. As he left, he said,
'Here, in the far-off future, there will rise
The city of your grandsons!' It came true.
[page 366]
In all that time the gods loved no man more
Than Myscelus, Alemon's son, from Argos,
And Hercules bent over him in slumber,
Saying 'Arise, leave your own land, and travel
To Aesar's rocky channel!' and he added
Threats, many and fearful, to compel obedience.
He vanished then, and slumber left Myscelus,
Who rose, and in the silence saw the vision
Still bright, and felt a warfare in his heart.
The god said Go! the law said Stay! and death
Had been appointed as the punishment
For leaving his own country. The bright sun
Had hidden his shining face beneath the ocean,
And darkest night had raised her starry face
>From those same waters. Once again the god
Seemed to be there, to give the same commands,
Only the warnings, this time, were more dreadful
For disobedience. He was greatly frightened,
Yet made his preparations for the moving,
And word of this went round: he had scorned the laws,
He should be brought to trial. And the charge
Was clear enough, no need of any witness,
And Myscelus, raising hands and gaze to Heaven,
Cried out: 'O god of the twelve great labors, help me!
It was your urging put this crime upon me.'
In those old days it used to be the custom
To vote by casting pebbles, black for guilty,
White for acquittal; and when the vote was taken
In Myscelus' case, each pebble, dropped in the urn,
Was pitiless black, but when the urn was turned,
And the pebbles poured for the count, the color of all
Was changed from black to white; so Hercules willed it,
And Myscelus went free. He thanked his patron,
Amphitryon's son, and with fair winds behind him
Crossed the Ionian sea, beyond Neretum,
Past Sybaris and Tarentum, Siris' bay,
[page 367]
Crimisa, the Iapygian coast, and found
The mouth of Aesar's channel, and a mound
That held the consecrated bones of Croton.
There, as the god had bidden him, he built
His city walls, and named the town for the hero
Whose resting-place was there." Such was the story,
Such the tradition of the city's founding.
There was a man here, Samian born, but he
Had fled from Samos, for he hated tyrants
And chose, instead, an exile's lot. His thought
Reached far aloft, to the great gods in Heaven,
And his imagination looked on visions
Beyond his mortal sight. All things he studied
With watchful eager mind, and he brought home
What he had learned and sat among the people
Teaching them what was worthy, and they listened
In silence, wondering at the revelations
How the great world began, the primal cause,
The nature of things, what God is, whence the snows
Come down, where lightning breaks from, whether wind
Or Jove speaks in the thunder from the clouds,
The cause of earthquakes, by what law the stars
Wheel in their courses, all the secrets hidden
>From man's imperfect knowledge. He was first
To say that animal food should not be eaten,
And learned as he was, men did not always
Believe him when he preached "Forbear, O mortals,
To spoil your bodies with such impious food!
There is corn for you, apples, whose weight bears down
The bending branches; there are grapes that swell
On the green vines, and pleasant herbs, and greens
Made mellow and soft with cooking; there is milk
And clover-honey. Earth is generous
With her provision, and her sustenance
[page 368]
Is very kind; she offers, for your tables,
Food that requires no bloodshed and no slaughter.
Meat is for beasts to feed on, yet not all
Are carnivores, for horses, sheep, and cattle
Subsist on grass, but those whose disposition
Is fierce and cruel, tigers, raging lions,
And bears and wolves delight in bloody feasting.
Oh, what a wicked thing it is for flesh
To be the tomb of flesh, for the body's craving
To fatten on the body of another,
For one live creature to continue living
Through one live creature's death. In all the richness
That Earth, the best of mothers, tenders to us,
Does nothing please except to chew and mangle
The flesh of slaughtered animals? The Cyclops
Could do no worse! Must you destroy another
To satiate your greedy-gutted cravings?
There was a time, the Golden Age, we call it,
Happy in fruits and herbs, when no men tainted
Their lips with blood, and birds went flying safely
Through air, and in the fields the rabbits wandered
Unfrightened, and no little fish was ever
Hooked by its own credulity: all things
Were free from treachery and fear and cunning,
And all was peaceful. But some innovator,
A good-for-nothing, whoever he was, decided,
In envy, that what lions ate was better,
Stuffed meat into his belly like a furnace,
And paved the way for crime. It may have been
That steel was warmed and dyed with blood through killing
Dangerous beasts, and that could be forgiven
On grounds of self-defense; to kill wild beasts
Is lawful, but they never should be eaten.
One crime leads to another: first the swine
Were slaughtered, since they rooted up the seeds
[page 369]
And spoiled the season's crop; then goats were punished
On vengeful altars for nibbling at the grape-vines.
These both deserved their fate, but the poor sheep,
What had they ever done, born for man's service,
But bring us milk, so sweet to drink, and clothe us
With their soft wool, who give us more while living
Than ever they could in death? And what had oxen,
Incapable of fraud or trick or cunning,
Simple and harmless, born to a life of labor,
What had they ever done? None but an ingrate,
Unworthy of the gift of grain, could ever
Take off the weight of the yoke, and with the axe
Strike at the neck that bore it, kill his fellow
Who helped him break the soil and raise the harvest.
It is bad enough to do these things; we make
The gods our partners in the abomination,
Saying they love the blood of bulls in Heaven.
So there he stands, the victim at the altars,
Without a blemish, perfect (and his beauty
Proves his own doom), in sacrificial garlands,
Horns tipped with gold, and hears the priest intoning:
Not knowing what he means, watches the barley
Sprinkled between his horns, the very barley
He helped make grow, and then is struck
And with his blood he stains the knife whose flashing
He may have seen reflected in clear water.
Then they tear out his entrails, peer, examine,
Search for the will of Heaven, seeking omens.
And then, so great man's appetite for food
Forbidden, then, O human race, you feed,
You feast, upon your kill. Do not do this,
I pray you, but remember: when you taste
The flesh of slaughtered cattle, you are eating
Your fellow-workers.
"Now, since the god inspires me,
I follow where he leads, to open Delphi,
[page 370]
The very heavens, bring you revelation
Of mysteries, great matters never traced
By any mind before, and matters lost
Or hidden and forgotten, these I sing.
There is no greater wonder than to range
The starry heights, to leave the earth's dull regions,
To ride the clouds, to stand on Atlas' shoulders,
And see, far off, far down, the little figures
Wandering here and there, devoid of reason,
Anxious, in fear of death, and so advise them,
And so make fate an open book.
"O mortals,
Dumb in cold fear of death, why do you tremble
At Stygian rivers, shadows, empty names,
The lying stock of poets, and the terrors
Of a false world? I tell you that your bodies
Can never suffer evil, whether fire
Consumes them, or the waste of time. Our souls
Are deathless; always, when they leave our bodies,
They find new dwelling-places. I myself,
I well remember, in the Trojan War
Was Panthous' son, Euphorbus, and my breast
Once knew the heavy spear of Menelaus.
Not long ago, in Argos, Abas' city,
In Juno's temple, I saw the shield I carried
On my left arm. All things are always changing,
But nothing dies. The spirit comes and goes,
Is housed wherever it wills, shifts residence
>From beasts to men, from men to beasts, but always
It keeps on living. As the pliant wax
Is stamped with new designs, and is no longer
What once it was, but changes form, and still
Is pliant wax, so do I teach that spirit
Is evermore the same, though passing always
To ever-changing bodies. So I warn you,
Lest appetite murder brotherhood, I warn you
[page 371]
By all the priesthood in me, do not exile
What may be kindred souls by evil slaughter.
Blood should not nourish blood.
"Full sail, I voyage
Over the boundless ocean, and I tell you
Nothing is permanent in all the world.
All things are fluent; every image forms,
Wandering through change. Time is itself a river
In constant movement, and the hours flow by
Like water, wave on wave, pursued, pursuing,
Forever fugitive, forever new.
That which has been, is not; that which was not,
Begins to be; motion and moment always
In process of renewal. Look, the night,
Worn out, aims toward the brightness, and sun's glory
Succeeds the dark. The color of the sky
Is different at midnight, when tired things
Lie all at rest, from what it is at morning
When Lucifer rides his snowy horse, before
Aurora paints the sky for Phoebus' coming.
The shield of the god reddens at early morning,
Reddens at evening, but is white at noonday
In purer air, farther from earth's contagion.
And the Moon-goddess changes in the nighttime,
Lesser today than yesterday, if waning,
Greater tomorrow than today, when crescent.
Notice the year's four seasons: they resemble
Our lives. Spring is a nursling, a young child,
Tender and young, and the grass shines and buds
Swell with new life, not yet full-grown nor hardy,
But promising much to husbandmen, with blossom
Bright in the fertile fields. And then comes summer
When the year is a strong young man, no better time
Than this, no richer, no more passionate vigor.
Then comes the prime of Autumn, a little sober,
[page 372]
But ripe and mellow, moderate of mood,
Halfway from youth to age, with just a showing
Of gray around the temples. And then Winter,
Tottering, shivering, bald or gray, and agĖd.
Our bodies also change. What we have been,
What we now are, we shall not be tomorrow.
There was a time when we were only seed,
Only the hope of men, housed in the womb,
Where Nature shaped us, brought us forth, exposed us
To the void air, and there in light we lay,
Feeble and infant, and were quadrupeds
Before too long, and after a little wobbled
And pulled ourselves upright, holding a chair,
The side of the crib, and strength grew into us,
And swiftness; youth and middle age went swiftly
Down the long hill toward age, and all our vigor
Came to decline, so Milon, the old wrestler,
Weeps when he sees his arms whose bulging muscles
Were once like Hercules', and Helen weeps
To see her wrinkles in the looking glass:
Could this old woman ever have been ravished,
Taken twice over? Time devours all things
With envious Age, together. The slow gnawing
Consumes all things, and very, very slowly.
Not even the so-called elements are constant.
Listen, and I will tell you of their changes.
There are four of them, and two, the earth and water,
Are heavy, and their own weight bears them downward,
And two, the air and fire (and fire is purer
Even than air) are light, rise upward
If nothing holds them down. These elements
Are separate in space, yet all things come
>From them and into them, and they can change
Into each other. Earth can be dissolved
To flowing water, water can thin to air,
[page 373]
And air can thin to fire, and fire can thicken
To air again, and air condense to water,
And water be compressed to solid earth.
Nothing remains the same: the great renewer,
Nature, makes form from form, and, oh, believe me
That nothing ever dies. What we call birth
Is the beginning of a difference,
No more than that, and death is only ceasing
Of what had been before. The parts may vary,
Shifting from here to there, hither and yon,
And back again, but the great sum is constant.
Nothing, I am convinced, can be the same
Forever. There was once an Age of Gold,
Later, an Age of Iron. Every place
Submits to Fortune's wheel. I have seen oceans
That once were solid land, and I have seen
Lands made from ocean. Often sea-shells lie
Far from the beach, and men have found old anchors
On mountain-tops. Plateaus have turned to valleys,
Hills washed away, marshes become dry desert,
Deserts made pools. Here Nature brings forth fountains,
There shuts them in; when the earth quakes, new rivers
Are born and old ones sink and dry and vanish.
Lycus, for instance, swallowed by the earth
Emerges far away, a different stream,
And Erasinus disappears, goes under
The ground, and comes to light again in Argos,
And Mysus, so the story goes, was tired
Of his old source and banks and went elsewhere
And now is called Caicus. The Anigrus
Was good to drink from once, but now rolls down
A flood that you had better leave alone,
Unless the poets lie, because the Centaurs
Used it to wash their wounds from Hercules' arrows.
And Hypanis, rising from Scythian mountains,
[page 374]
Once fresh and sweet to the taste, is salty and brackish.
Antissa, Pharos, Tyre, all inland cities,
Were islands once, Leucas and Zancle mainland,
And Helice and Buris, should you seek them,
Those old Achaian cities, you would find them
Under the waves, and mariners can show you
The sloping ramps, the buried walls. Near Troezen
Stands a high treeless hill, a level plain
Until the violent winds, penned underground,
Stifled in gloomy caverns, struggled long
For freer air to breathe, since that black prison
Had never a chink, made the ground swell to bursting,
The way one blows a bladder or a goatskin,
And where that blister or that bubble grew
Out of the ground, the lump remained and hardened
With time, and now it seems a rounded hill-top.
Example on example! I could cite you
So many more that I have seen or heard of.
Just a few more. The element of water
Gives and receives strange forms. At midday Ammon
Is cold, but warm in the morning and the evening.
The Athamanians set wood on fire
By pouring water on it in the dark of the moon,
And the Ciconian people have a river
They never drink, for they would turn to marble.
Crathis and Sybaris, in our own country,
Turn hair the color of platinum or gold,
And there are other streams, more marvelous even,
Whose waters affect the mind as well as body.
You have heard about Salmacis; there are lakes
In Ethiopia where a swallow of the water
Will drive you raving mad or hold you rigid
In catatonic lethargy. No man
Who likes his wine should ever drink from Clytor
Or he would hate it; something in that water,
[page 375]
It may be, counteracts the heat of wine,
Or possibly, and so the natives tell us,
Melampus, when he cured the maddened daughters
Of Proetus by his herbs and magic singing,
Threw in that spring mind-clearing hellebore,
So that a hatred of wine stays in those waters.
Lynestis river is just the opposite;
Whoever drinks too freely there will stagger
As if he had taken undiluted wine.
At Pheneus, in Arcadia, there are springs
Harmless by day, injurious in the nighttime.
As lakes and rivers vary in their virtues,
So lands can change. The little island Delos
Once floated on the waters, but now stands firm,
And Jason's Argo, as you well remember,
Dreaded the Clashing Rocks, the high-flung spray,
Immovable now, contemptuous of the winds.
Etna, whose furnaces glow hot with sulphur,
Will not be fiery always in the future,
And was not always fiery in the past.
The earth has something animal about it,
Living almost, with many lungs to breathe through,
Sending out flames, but the passages of breathing
Are changeable; some caverns may be closed
And new ones open whence the fire can issue.
Deep caves compress the violent winds, which drive
Rock against rock, imprisoning the matter
That holds the seeds of flame, and this bursts blazing
Ignited by the friction, and the caves
Cool when the winds are spent. The tars and pitches,
The yellow sulphur with invisible burning,
Are no eternal fuel, so volcanoes,
Starved of their nourishment, devour no longer,
Abandon fire, as they have been abandoned.
Far to the north, somewhere around Pallene,
[page 376]
The story goes, there is a lake where men
Who plunge nine times into the chilly waters
Come out with downy feathers over their bodies.
This I do not believe, nor that the women
Of Scythia sprinkle their bodies with magic juices
For the same purpose and effect.
"However,
There are stranger things that have been tried and tested
And these we must believe. You have seen dead bodies,
Rotten from time or heat, breed smaller creatures.
Bury the carcasses of slaughtered bullocks,
Chosen for sacrifice (all men know this),
And from the putrid entrails will come flying
The flower-culling bees, whose actions prove
Their parenthood, for they are fond of meadows,
Are fond of toil, and work with hopeful spirit.
The horse, being warlike, after he is buried
Produces hornets. Cut a sea-crab's claws,
Bury the rest of the body, and a scorpion
Comes from the ground. And worms that weave cocoons
White on the leaves of the trees, as country people,
Know well turn into moths with death's-head marking.
The mud holds seeds that generate green frogs,
Legless at first, but the legs grow, to swim with,
And take long jumps with, later. And a bear-cub,
New-born, is not a bear at all, but only
A lump, hardly alive, whose mother gives it
A licking into shape, herself as model.
The larvae of the honey-bearing bees,
Safe in hexagonal waxen cells, are nothing
But wormlike bodies; feet and wings come later.
Who would believe that from an egg would come
Such different wonders as Juno's bird, the peacock,
Jove's eagle, Venus' dove, and all the fliers?
Some people think that when the human spine
Has rotted in the narrow tomb, the marrow
[page 377]
Is changed into a serpent.
"All these things
Have their beginning in some other creature,
But there is one bird which renews itself
Out of itself. The Assyrians call it the phoenix.
It does not live on seeds nor the green grasses,
But on the gum of frankincense and juices
Of cardamon. It lives five centuries,
As you may know, and then it builds itself
A nest in the highest branches of a palm-tree,
Using its talons and clean beak to cover
This nest with cassia and spikes of spikenard,
And cinnamon and yellow myrrh, and there
It dies among the fragrance, and from the body
A tiny phoenix springs to birth, whose years
Will be as long. The fledgling, gaining strength
To carry burdens, lifts the heavy nest,
His cradle and the old one's tomb, and bears it
Through the thin air to the city of the Sun
And lays it as an offering at the doors
Of the Sun-god's holy temple.
"Wonders, wonders!
The same hyena can be male or female,
To take or give the seed of life, at pleasure,
And the chameleon, a little creature
Whose food is wind and air, takes on the color
Of anything it rests on. India, conquered,
Gave Bacchus, tendril-crowned, the tawny lynxes
Whose urine, when it met the air, was hardened
Becoming stone; so coral also hardens
At the first touch of air, while under water
It sways, a pliant weed.
"The day will end,
The Sun-god plunge tired horses in the ocean
Before I have the time I need to tell you
All of the things that take new forms. We see
[page 378]
The eras change, nations grow strong, or weaken,
Like Troy, magnificent in men and riches,
For ten years lavish with her blood, and now
Displaying only ruins and for wealth
The old ancestral tombs. Sparta, Mycenae,
Athens, and Thebes, all flourished once, and now
What are they more than names I hear that Rome
Is rising, out of Trojan blood, established
On strong and deep foundations, where the Tiber
Comes from the Apennines. Rome's form is changing
Growing to greatness, and she will be, some day,
Head of the boundless world; so we are told
By oracles and seers. I can remember
When Troy was tottering ruinward, a prophet,
Helenus, son of Priam, told Aeneas
In consolation for his doubts and weeping
'O son of Venus, if you bear in mind
My prophecies, Troy shall not wholly perish
While you are living: fire and sword will give you
Safe passage through them; you will carry on
Troy's relics, till a land, more friendly to you
Than your own native soil, will give asylum.
I see the destined city for the Trojans
And their sons' sons, none greater in all the ages,
Past, present, or to come. Through long, long eras
Her famous men will bring her power, but one,
Sprung from Iulus' blood, will make her empress
Of the whole world, and after earth has used him
The heavens will enjoy him, Heaven will be
His destination.' What Helenus told Aeneas,
I have told you, I remember, and I am happy
That for our kin new walls, at last, are rising,
That the Greek victory was to such good purpose.
We must not wander far and wide, forgetting
The goal of our discourse. Remember this:
[page 379]
The heavens and all below them, earth and her creatures,
All change, and we, part of creation, also
Must suffer change. We are not bodies only,
But wingĖd spirits, with the power to enter
Animal forms, house in the bodies of cattle.
Therefore, we should respect those dwelling-places
Which may have given shelter to the spirit
Of fathers, brothers, cousins, human beings
At least, and we should never do them damage,
Not stuff ourselves like the cannibal Thyestes.
An evil habit, impious preparation,
Wicked as human bloodshed, to draw the knife
Across the throat of the calf, and hear its anguish
Cry to deaf ears! And who could slay
The little goat whose cry is like a baby's,
Or eat a bird he has himself just fed?
One might as well do murder; he is only
The shortest step away. Let the bull plow
And let him owe his death to length of days;
Let the sheep give you armor for rough weather,
The she-goats bring full udders to the milking.
Have done with nets and traps and snares and springes,
Bird-lime and forest-beaters, lines and fish-hooks.
Kill, if you must, the beasts that do you harm,
But, even so, let killing be enough;
Let appetite refrain from flesh, take only
A gentler nourishment."
Men say that Numa
Returned to his own land from there, his wisdom
Greater for this instruction, and he reigned
In Latium, happy in a wife Egeria,
A nymph, and with the guidance of the Muses,
He taught his people holy rites, and trained them
[page 380]
>From warlike ways to peace, through the long years,
And when his rule and life were done, all people
Mourned for the loss of Numa, men and matrons,
Nobles and common folk. Egeria fled
The city, hiding in the deepest forests
Of the Arician vale, and her lamenting,
Wailing and grief, disturbed Diana's worship.
Her sister nymphs from wood and lake would often
Urge her to quiet, speaking words of comfort,
And Theseus' son, Hippolytus, spoke to her:
"Stop it," he said, "Your lot is not the only
Instance of sorrow: think of other people,
Others have borne such losses, and your own,
If you remember them, may be less heavy.
As for myself, I have had my share of sorrow,
So much I wish I had never had to bear it,
But my experience, perhaps, can ease you.
You have heard, I think, about Hippolytus,
Whoever he was, and how he met his death
Because his father had too much suspicion,
Believed too readily what his wicked wife
Poured in his ears. This you will not believe,
And I can hardly prove it, but I am
The same Hippolytus. Pasiphae's daughter,
Phaedra, my father's wife, tried to seduce me,
To have me make a cuckold of my father.
She failed, but what she wanted she pretended
That I had wanted, and she lied about it,
Accused me to him (whether through her fear
Of being found out, or anger at rejection
I never knew). I know I did not merit
The banishment my father put upon me,
The curse that echoed down my path of exile.
I rode toward Troezen, and as I was going
[page 381]
Along the beach of Corinth, a great wall
Of water rose from the sea, grew mountain-high,
Roared terribly, and split, and at the summit
A bull came forth, reared breast and shoulders over
The flood, and mouth and nostrils spouted water.
My company was terrified, but I
Had in my heart no room for fear, with exile
All I could think of. Suddenly, my horses
Faced toward the sea, pricked up their ears, and trembled,
Shivering at that monster shape, and dashed
My chariot headlong down the rocky headland.
I struggled with the reins, all smeared with foam,
Leaned back with all my strength, and might have mastered
Their maddened fury, but a wheel broke off
Against a stump, the axle snapped, and I
Was thrown, with legs and ankles in a tangle
Wound with the reins. Had you been there to see me,
You would have seen my entrails torn from my body,
Muscles impaled on prongs, limbs partly shattered,
Partly dragged on, or left behind, all broken,
You would have heard the crack of my snapping bones,
Seen the last breath go out of me. You would not
Have known me, not in any part, for I
Was simply one great wound. So, my dear goddess,
Can you compare your loss with my disaster?
That was not all. I saw the sunless world
Of Death, I bathed my torn and weary body
In the Burning River, and there I still would be
Had it not been for Paeon, who was son
of great Apollo, and had magic potions
That brought me back to life. Through his strong herbs,
His medicine, against the will of Pluto,
I came to life again. Diana veiled me
In a thick cloud, so that no man might see me,
None envy me my second life. She gave me
The look of age, and changed me, every feature,
[page 382]
So that I might be seen, might have no fear,
No dread of punishment, and in her mind
Could not decide what home was better for me,
Delos or Crete, but finally she sent me
To neither place, but here, bade me abandon
The name that might remind me of my horses.
Hippolytus no more, you shall be Virbius,
The Twice-Born Man! So she decreed, and always,
>From that time on, this grove has been my dwelling.
A lesser god, I am sheltered by the greater,
All my devotion hers."
But no such story
Could soothe Egeria's grief; she flung herself
Face down at the mountain's base, dissolved in tears
Until Diana, pitying her sorrow,
Formed a cool fountain from her body, and streams
Out of her slender limbs, and this struck wonder
Into the nymphs, and Theseus' son was startled
No less than when that plowman in Etruria
Saw in his fields a clod that moved when no man
Had ever touched it, and it grew and fashioned
Itself to human shape, and uttered speech
Of things that were to be. The natives called him,
This new man, Tages, and through him the nation
Was taught in prophecy.
No less amazed
Was Romulus when he saw the spear he planted
Suddenly put forth leaves, and the iron point
That held it in the Palatine earth grew downward,
Changed into roots, and it was spear no more,
But tree, whose unexpected shadow darkened
Above the people's wonder.
No less amazed
Was Cipus, looking at his own reflection
[page 383]
In river water, seeing on his forehead
Horns jutting out. It might have been illusion,
He thought, some freak or trickery of the water,
And so he raised his fingers to his forehead,
Touched what he saw, believed, stood still, as one
Who halts when homeward bound from some great triumph,
Lifted his hands and eyes to Heaven, crying:
"O gods, whatever this portent means, if good,
Let it be for my people, but if evil,
May that be mine alone !" He made an altar
Of the green turf, poured wine and sprinkled incense,
Made offerings of sheep, studied the entrails
For further sign. Etruscan seers and augurs
Joined in the study and at first were baffled:
There were signs of greatness, surely, signs of promise,
All too unclear at first, but one soothsayer,
Lifting his eyes to glance at Cipus' forehead
Where the horns grew, cried out: "All hail, O king!
This place and Latium's citadels bow down
To Cipus; only hasten, enter the gates
That stand wide open, waiting. So the fates
Ordain. If once he is welcomed in the city,
Then Cipus shall be king, and wield the sceptre
With safe and endless sway." But Cipus kept
His gaze away, recoiling. "May the gods
Avert such destiny! Oh far, far better
I be an exile from my home than ever
King on the Capitol." He called together
People and reverend senate, but he hid
His horns with laurel, and he stood above them
On a memorial hillock, prayed to the gods
In the old way, and said, "There is one here
Who will be king unless you make him exile.
His name I will not tell you; you will know him
For he is wearing horns upon his forehead.
The prophets say that, once he enters Rome,
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You will all be slaves. He might have forced his way
Through your open gates; it was I who would not let him,
Though I am closer to him than any man.
Reject him, citizens; or, if he deserves it,
Bind him with chains, or kill him." And a murmur
Rose from the people, such a sound as rushes
Through pine-trees at the rising of the wind,
Or as sea-waves make, far-off. Through the confusion
One cry rose loud and clear: Who is the man?
They stood there, looking at each other's foreheads,
Trying to find the horns. Then Cipus spoke:
"Here is the man you seek," and took the laurel
>From off his temples, though they tried to stop him,
Showed the two horns. And all looked down and sighed
And once again looked up, against their will,
Almost, at that illustrious brow. They would not
Permit dishonor to him, and the laurel
Was twined, once more, about his noble temples,
And, since he might not come within the city,
The senate gave him, as a gift of honor,
Whatever land a sturdy team of oxen
Could plow from dawn to darkness. And the horns,
Engraved on bronze, in all their marvellous beauty,
Adorn the pillars of their gates forever.
And now, O Muses, helpers of the poets,
You knowers and rememberers, aid the telling
Of how an island in the Tiber's channel
Brought the god Aesculapius to Rome.
In the old days a deadly pestilence
Infected Latium's air, and bodies wasted
Pale with a bloodless sickness. Men were weary
Of caring for the dead, and saw their efforts
All came to nothing, found the arts of healers
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Of no avail, and so they went to Delphi,
Earth's center, there to beg the god to help them,
To heal them in their misery, and end
The ills of their great city. All things trembled,
The shrine, the laurel, and Apollo's quiver,
And from the innermost tripod came the words
That shook them all with fear: "What you are seeking
In Delphi, Romans, you should have sought for nearer.
Go, seek it nearer home. Apollo cannot
Lessen your troubles, but Apollo's son
Has power to help you. Go, with all good omens,
And call upon him." The wise senate listened,
Heard the injunction, and inquired what city
Held the young god, and sent to Epidaurus
By ship to find him. When they beached their vessel
On that curved shore, they went to meet the fathers,
The council of the Greeks, prayed for the gift
Of that one deity to end their troubles,
According to the oracle. The elders
Differed among themselves: some were for giving
The gift outright, but there were more who favored
Keeping their god, their wealth, their aid and guardian.
And while they sat in doubt, the dusk of evening
Banished the lingering day, and darkness shadowed
The light of the world. Then Aesculapius seemed,
In dream, to stand before the Roman's couch,
Even as in his temple, with the staff
In his left hand, his right forefinger stroking
His flowing beard. He spoke, or seemed to, calmly:
"Be not afraid; I shall come, and leave my statues,
But see this serpent, as it twines around
The rod I carry: mark it well, and learn it,
For I shall be this serpent, only larger,
Like a celestial presence." And he vanished,
And with his voice the slumber died, and day
Dawned calm upon that sleep, and the bright morning
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Had driven out the stars, when all the elders,
Uncertain still, assembled at the temple
And prayed their god to give a sign, an omen,
Where he would have his dwelling-place. And silence
Had hardly fallen, when the god, all crested
With gold, in serpent-form, uttered a warning,
Hissed terribly, a sign that he was coming,
And all the altars, all the doors, the pavement,
The roof of gold, the statue, shook and trembled.
Reared high, he stood there, and he gazed about him
With fiery eyes, and as the people shuddered,
The priest, in ceremonial headdress, knew him,
Calling: "The god! Behold the god! Bow down
To him in word and spirit, all who stand here!
That we may see his beauty as our blessing,
Here at his shrine!" And all the people worshipped,
Made their responses, and the Romans also
Gave sign of deep devotion, and the god
Was gracious, signified his lasting favor,
Hissed, glided down the marble stairs, and turned
To gaze once more on those familiar altars
For the last time, and then he wound his way,
Looping and coiling, over the ground where flowers
Were scattered in his honor, and so came
To the harbor with its curving walls, and halted,
And seemed to say farewell to all his people,
And went aboard the ship, which under the burden
Of the god's weight, seemed to be heavy laden.
And joy filled all the Romans; on the shore
They slew a bull for sacrificial offering
And wreathed the ship with flowers, and loosed
the moorings.
Soft breezes blew the vessel on: the god
Looked down from the high stern on the blue waters,
And the winds held fair through the Ionian sea,
Five days to Italy, on by Lacinium,
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Famous for Juno's temple, past Scylaceum,
Beyond Iapygia, skirting crags and rocks,
Skirting Romethium, Caulon, and Narycia,
Past Sicily and Pelorus' straits, beyond
The island of the winds, the copper-mines,
On toward Leucosia and Paestum's headland
Whose roses love the warmth; then by Capri
Minerva's cape, Sorrento's hilly vineyards,
Past Herculaneum, Stabiae, and Naples
Founded for leisure, famous for the temple
Of the Cumaean Sibyl. On and on
By the hot springs of Baiae, by Linternum,
Where grow the mastic-trees, beyond Volturnus,
The whirling sandy river, by Sinuessa
And all its snowy doves, beyond Minturnae,
A pestilential town, beyond Caieta
Named for Aeneas' nurse, whose funeral
Was held there long ago, past Formiae,
Past marshy Terracina and Circe's island,
Past Antium and the shore of hard-packed sand.
Here the sea roughened, and the sailors altered
Their course to landward, and the god unfolded
His coils and came in looping curving motion
To his father's temple on that yellow shore.
And the sea calmed, and once again he left
His father's altars, a guest there, for a little,
In blood-relationship, and turned, and made a furrow
Along the beach, and the scales rasped like metal,
Until he came to the ship, wound upward, slowly,
The rudder's length, and rested by the tiller.
He came to Castrum, to the mouth of Tiber,
Lavinium's holy place, and here the people
Came thronging down to meet him, men and matrons
And maids, the Vestals, and they cried Hosannas,
As the swift ship rode on upstream, and incense
Crackled on altars on both sides the river
[page 388]
And air was fragrant with the smoke of incense
And victim beasts made the knife warm with blood.
He had entered Rome, the capital of the world,
And climbed the mast, and swung his head about
As if to seek his proper habitation.
Just at this point the river breaks and flows,
A double stream, around a mole of land
Men call The Island. Here the serpent-son,
Apollo's offspring, came to land, put on
His heavenly form again, and to the people
Brought health and end of mourning.
The old god
Came to our shrines from foreign lands, but Caesar
Is god in his own city. First in war,
And first in peace, victorious, triumphant,
Planner and governor, quick-risen to glory,
The newest star in Heaven, and more than this,
And above all, immortal through his son.
No work, in all of Caesar's great achievement,
Surpassed this greatness, to have been the father
Of our own Emperor. To have tamed the Britons,
Surrounded by the fortress of their ocean,
To have led a proud victorious armada
Up seven-mouthed Nile, to have added to the empire
Rebel Numidia, Libya, and Pontus
Arrogant with the name of Mithridates,
To have had many triumphs, and deserved
Many more triumphs: this was truly greatness,
Greatness surpassed only by being father
Of one yet greater, one who rules the world
As proof that the immortal gods have given
Rich blessing to the human race, so much so
We cannot think him mortal, our Augustus,
Therefore our Julius must be made a god
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To justify his son.
And golden Venus
Saw this, and saw, as well, the murder plotted
Against her priest, the assassins in their armor,
And she grew pale with fear. "Behold," she cried
To all the gods in turn, "Behold, what treason
Threatens me with its heavy weight, what ambush
Is set to take Iulus' last descendant!
Must this go on forever? Once again
The spear of Diomedes strikes to wound me,
The walls of Troy fall over me in ruins,
Once more I see my son, long-wandering,
Storm-tossed, go down to the shades, and rise again
To war with Turnus, or to speak more truly,
With Juno. It is very foolish of me
To dwell on those old sufferings, for my fear,
My present fear, has driven them from my mind.
Look: Do you see them whetting their evil daggers?
Avert this crime, before the fires of Vesta
Drown in their high-priest's blood!"
The anxious goddess
Cried these complaints through Heaven, and no one listened.
The gods were moved, and though they could not shatter
The iron mandates of the ancient sisters,
They still gave certain portents of the evil
To come upon the world. In the dark storm-clouds
Arms clashed and trumpets blared, most terrible,
And horns heard in the sky warned men of crime,
And the sun's visage shone with lurid light
On anxious lands. Firebrands were seen to flash
Among the stars, the clouds dripped blood, rust-color
Blighted the azure Morning-Star, and the Moon
Rode in a blood-red car. The Stygian owl
Wailed in a thousand places; ivory statues
Dripped tears in a thousand places, and wailing traveled
The holy groves, and threats were heard. No victim
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Paid expiation, and the liver warned
Of desperate strife to come, the lobe found cloven
Among the entrails. In the market place,
Around the homes of men and the gods' temples
Dogs howled by night, and the shadows of the silent
Went roaming, and great earthquakes shook the city.
No warning of the gods could check the plotting
Of men, avert the doom of fate. Drawn swords
Were borne into a temple; nowhere else
In the whole city was suitable for murder
Save where the senate met.
Then Venus beat
Her breast with both her hands, and tried to hide him,
Her Caesar, in a cloud, as she had rescued
Paris from Menelaus, as Aeneas
Fled Diomedes' sword. And Jove spoke to her:
"My daughter, do you think your power alone
Can move the fates no power can ever conquer?
Enter the home of the Three Sisters: there
You will see the records, on bronze and solid iron,
Wrought with tremendous effort, and no crashing
Of sky, no wrath of lightning, no destruction
Shall make them crumble. They are safe, forever.
There you will find engraved on adamant
The destinies of the race, unchangeable.
I have read them, and remembered; I will tell you
So you may know the future. He has finished
The time allotted him, this son you grieve for;
His debt to earth is paid. But he will enter
The Heaven as a god, and have his temples
On earth as well: this you will see fulfilled,
Will bring about, you and his son together.
He shall inherit both the name of Caesar
And the great burden, and we both shall help him
Avenge his father's murder. Under him
Mutina's conquered walls will sue for mercy,
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Pharsalia know his power, and Philippi
Run red with blood again, and one more Pompey
Go down to death in the Sicilian waters.
A Roman general's Egyptian woman,
Foolish to trust that liaison, will perish
For all her threats that our own capitol
Would serve Canopus. Need I bring to mind
Barbarian lands that border either ocean?
Whatever lands men live on, the world over,
Shall all be his to rule, and the seas also.
And when peace comes to all the world, his mind
Will turn to law and order, civil justice,
And men will learn from his sublime example,
And he, still looking forward toward the future,
The coming generations, will give order
That his good wife's young son should take his name,
His duty when he lays the burden down,
Though he will live as long as ancient Nestor
Before he comes to Heaven to greet his kinsmen.
Now, in the meantime, from the murdered body
Raise up the spirit, set the soul of Julius
As a new star in Heaven, to watch over
Our market place, our Capitol."
He ended,
And Venus, all unseen, came to the temple,
Raised from the body of Caesar the fleeting spirit,
Not to be lost in air, but borne aloft
To the bright stars of Heaven. As she bore it,
She felt it burn, released it from her bosom,
And saw it rise, beyond the moon, a comet
Rising, not falling, leaving the long fire
Behind its wake, and gleaming as a star.
And now he sees his son's good acts, confessing
They are greater than his own, for once rejoicing
In being conquered. But the son refuses
To have his glories set above his father's;
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Fame will not heed him, for she heeds no mortal,
Exalts him, much against his will, resists him
In this one instance only. So must Atreus
Defer to Agamemnon; so does Theseus
Surpass Aegeus, and Achilles Peleus,
And--(one more instance where the father's glory
Yields to the son's)--Saturn is less than Jove.
Jove rules the lofty citadels of Heaven,
The kingdoms of the triple world, but Earth
Acknowledges Augustus. Each is father
As each is lord. O gods, Aeneas' comrades,
To whom the fire and sword gave way, I pray you,
And you, O native gods of Italy,
Quirinus, father of Rome, and Mars, the father
Of Rome's unconquered sire, and Vesta, honored
With Caesar's household gods, Apollo, tended
With reverence as Vesta is, and Jove,
Whose temple crowns Tarpeia's rock, O gods,
However many, whom the poet's longing
May properly invoke, far be the day,
Later than our own era, when Augustus
Shall leave the world he rules, ascend to Heaven,
And there, beyond our presence, hear our prayers!
Now I have done my work. It will endure,
I trust, beyond Jove's anger, fire and sword,
Beyond Time's hunger. The day will come, I know,
So let it come, that day which has no power
Save over my body, to end my span of life
Whatever it may be. Still part of me,
The better part, immortal, will be borne
Above the stars; my name will be remembered
Wherever Roman power rules conquered lands,
I shall be read, and through all centuries,
If prophecies of bards are ever truthful,
I shall be living, always.