So vast are the supplies the rivers bring, Threatening in turn to deluge every land From out the deep abysses of the ocean; All in vain, since the winds, sweeping the seas, Diminish them, and the sun in heaven unweaves Their fabric with his rays; and ’tis their boast That they are able to dry all things up, Before moisture can achieve its end.
So terrible a war do they breathe out On equal terms, striving one with another For mighty issues: though indeed fire once Obtained the mastery, so the fable tells, And water once reigned supreme in the fields.
For fire prevailing licked up and consumed Many things, when the ungovernable might Of the Sun’s horses, swerving from their course, Through the whole sky and over every land Whirled Phaëthon. But then the almighty Father, Stirred to fierce wrath, with sudden thunder-stroke Dashed great-souled Phaëthon from his team to the earth, And as he fell the Sun-god meeting him Caught from him the world’s everlasting lamp, And brought back tamed and trembling to the yoke The scattered steeds; then on their wonted course Guiding them, unto all things gave fresh life.
Thus verily the old Greek poets sang, Though straying from true reason all too far.
For fire can only gain the mastery When an excess of fiery particles Have flocked together out of infinite space; And then its strength fails, vanquished in some way, Or else things perish, utterly consumed By scorching gusts. Likewise moisture once Gathering together, as the story tells, Strove for the mastery, when it overwhelmed Many cities of mankind. But afterwards, When all that force, which out of infinite space Had gathered itself up, was by some means Diverted and withdrew, the rains ceased then, And the violence of the rivers was abated.
But in what ways matter converging once Established earth and heaven and the sea’s deeps, The sun’s course and the moon’s, I will set forth In order. For in truth not by design Did the primordial particles of things Arrange themselves each in its own right place With provident mind, nor verily have they bargained What motions each should follow; but because These primal atoms in such multitudes And in so many ways through infinite time Impelled by blows and moved by their own weight, Have been borne onward so incessantly, Uniting in every way and making trial Of every shape they could combine to form, Therefore it is that after wandering wide Through vast periods, attempting every kind Of union and of motion, they at last Collect into such groups as, suddenly Flocking together, oftentimes become The rudiments of mighty things, of earth, Sea and sky, and the race of living creatures.
At that time neither could the disk of the sun Be seen flying aloft with bounteous light, Nor the stars of great heaven, nor sea, nor sky, Nor yet earth nor the air, nor anything Resembling those things which we now behold, But only a sort of strange tempest, a mass Gathered together out of primal atoms Of all kinds, which discordantly waged war Disordering so their interspaces, paths, Connections, weights, collisions, meetings, motions, Since with their unlike forms and varied shapes, They could not therefore all remain united, Nor move among themselves harmoniously.
Thereupon parts began to fly asunder, And like things to unite with like, and so To separate off the world, and to divide Its members, portioning out its mighty parts; That is, to mark off the high heaven from earth, And the sea by itself, that it might spread With unmixed waters, and likewise the fires Of aether by themselves, pure and unmixed.
Now first the several particles of earth, Since they were heavy and close-packed, all met Together in the middle, and took up The lowest places: and the more they met In close-packed throngs, the more did they squeeze out Those particles which were to form sea, stars, Sun and moon, and the walls of the great world.
For all these are of smoother rounder seeds, And of much smaller elements than earth.
So first through porous openings in the soil The fire-laden aether here and there Bursting forth rose and lightly carried off Many fires with it, much in the same way As often we may see when first the beams Of the radiant sun with golden morning light Blush through the grasses gemmed with dew, and lakes And ever-flowing rivers exhale mist, While earth itself is sometimes seen to smoke; And when floating aloft these vapours all Unite on high, then taking bodily shape As clouds, they weave a veil beneath the heavens.
Thus then the light diffusive aether once Took bodily shape, and, arched round on all sides, Far into every quarter spreading out, So with its greedy embrace hemmed in all else.
Next came the rudiments of sun and moon, Whose globes turn in the air midway between Aether and earth; for neither did the earth Nor the great aether claim them for itself, Since they were not so heavy as to sink And settle down, nor so light as to glide Along the topmost borders: yet their course Between the two is such, that as they roll Their lifelike bodies onward, they are still Parts of the whole world; even as with us Some of our members may remain at rest, While at the same time others may be in motion.
So when these things had been withdrawn, the earth, Where now the ocean’s vast blue region spreads, Sank suddenly down, and flooded with salt surge Its hollow parts. And day by day the more The encircling aether’s heats and the sun’s rays Compressed the earth into a closer mass By constant blows upon its outer surface From every side, so that thus beaten upon It shrank and drew together round its centre, The more did the salt sweat squeezed from its body Increase by its oozings the sea’s floating plains, And the more did those many particles Of heat and air escaping fly abroad, And far away from the earth condensing, form The lofty glittering mansions of the sky.
The plains sank lower, the high mountains grew Yet steeper; for the rocks could not sink down, Nor could all parts subside to one same level.
Thus then the earth’s ponderous mass was formed With close-packed body, and all the slime of the world Slid to the lowest plane by its own weight, And at the bottom settled down like dregs.
Then the sea, then the air, then the fire-laden Aether itself, all these were now left pure With liquid bodies. Some indeed are lighter Than others, and most liquid and light of all Over the airy currents aether floats, Not blending with the turbulent atmosphere Its liquid substance. All below, it suffers To be embroiled by violent hurricanes, Suffers all to be tossed with wayward storms, While itself gliding on with changeless sweep Bears its own fires along. For, that the aether May stream on steadily with one impulse, The Pontos demonstrates, that sea which streams With an unchanging tide, unceasingly Preserving as it glides one constant pace.
Now let us sing what cause could set the stars In motion. First, if the great globe of heaven Revolves, then we must needs maintain that air Presses upon the axis at each end, And holds it from outside, closing it in At both poles; also that there streams above Another current, moving the same way, In which the stars of the eternal world Roll glittering onward; or else that beneath There is another stream, that drives the sphere Upwards the opposite way, just as we see Rivers turn mill-wheels with their water-scoops.
It likewise may well be that the whole sky Remains at rest, yet that the shining signs Are carried onwards; either because within them Are shut swift tides of aether, that whirl round Seeking a way out, and so roll their fires On all sides through the sky’s nocturnal mansions; Or else that from some other source outside An air-stream whirls and drives the fires along; Or else they may be gliding of themselves, Moving whithersoever the food of each Calls and invites them, nourishing everywhere Their flaming bodies throughout the whole sky.
For it is hard to affirm with certainty Which of these causes operates in this world: But what throughout the universe both can And does take place in various worlds, created On various plans, this I teach, and proceed To expound what divers causes may exist Through the universe for the motion of the stars: And one of these in our world too must be The cause which to the heavenly signs imparts Their motive vigour: but dogmatically To assert which this may be, is in no wise The function of those advancing step by step.
Now in order that the earth should be at rest In the world’s midst, it would seem probable That its weight gradually diminishing Should disappear, and that the earth should have Another nature underneath, conjoined And blent in union from its earliest age With those aerial portions of the world Wherein it lives embodied. For this cause It is no burden, nor weighs down the air, Just as to a man his own limbs are no weight, Nor is the head a burden to the neck, Nor do we feel that the whole body’s weight Rests on the feet: yet a much smaller burden Laid on us from outside, will often hurt us.
Of such great moment is it what each thing’s Function may be. Thus then the earth is not An alien body intruded suddenly, Nor thrust from elsewhere into an alien air, But was conceived together with the world At its first birth as a fixed portion of it, Just as our limbs are seen to be of us.
Moreover the earth, when shaken suddenly With violent thunder, by its trembling shakes All that is over it; which in no wise Could happen, if it were not closely bound With the world’s airy parts, and with the sky.
For they all, as though by common roots, cohere One with another, from their earliest age Conjoined and blent in union. See you not too That heavy as our body’s weight may be, Yet the soul’s force, though subtle exceedingly, Sustains it, being so closely joined and blent In union with it? Also what has power To lift the body with a nimble leap, Except the mind’s force that controls the limbs?
Do you not now perceive how great the power May be of a subtle nature, when ’tis joined With a heavy body, even as with the earth The air is joined, and the mind’s force with us?
Also the sun’s disk cannot be much larger, Nor its heat be much less, than to our sense They appear to be. For from whatever distance Fires can fling light, and breathe upon our limbs Their warming heat, these intervening spaces Take away nothing from the body of flame; The fire is not shrunken visibly.
So since the sun’s heat and the light it sheds Both reach our senses and caress our limbs, The form also and contour of the sun Must needs be seen from the earth in their true scale, With neither addition nor diminishment.
Also the moon, whether it moves along Illuminating earth with borrowed light, Or throws out its own rays from its own body, Howe’er that be, moves with a shape no larger Than seems that shape which our eyes contemplate.
For all things which we look at from far off Through much air, seem to our vision to grow dim Before their contours lessen. Therefore the moon, Seeing that it presents a clear aspect And definite shape, must needs by us on earth Be seen on high in its defining outline Just as it is, and of its actual size.
Lastly consider all those fires of aether You see from the earth. Since fires, which here below We observe, for so long as their flickering Remains distinct, and their heat is perceived, Are sometimes seen to change their size to less Or greater to some very slight extent According to their distance, you may thence Know that the fires of aether can be smaller Only by infinitesimal degrees, Or larger by the tiniest minute fraction.
This also is not wonderful, how the sun Small as it is, can shed so great a light, As with its flood to fill all seas and lands And sky, with warm heat bathing everything.
For from this spot perhaps a single well For the whole world may open and gush out, Shooting forth an abundant stream of light, Because from everywhere throughout the world In such wise do the particles of heat Gather together, and their united mass Converges in such wise, that blazing fire Streams forth here from a single fountain-head.
See you not too how wide a meadow-land One little spring of water sometimes floods, Overflowing whole fields? It may be also That from the sun’s flame, though it be not great, Heat pervades the whole air with scorching fires, Should the air chance to be susceptible And ready to be kindled, when it is struck By tiny heat-rays. Then we sometimes see A wide-spread conflagration from one spark Catch fields of corn or stubble. Perhaps too The sun shining on high with ruddy torch May be surrounded by much fire and heats Invisible, fire which no radiance Reveals, but laden with heat it does no more Than reinforce the stroke of the sun’s rays.
Nor is there any single theory, Certain and obvious, of how the sun Out of his summer stations passing forth Approaches the midwinter turning-point Of Capricorn, and how coming back thence He bends his course to the solstitial goal Of Cancer; then too how the moon is seen To traverse every month that space, whereon The journeying sun spends a year’s period.
For these events, I say, no single cause Can be assigned. It seems most probable That the august opinion of Democritus Should be the truth; the nearer to the earth The several constellations move, the less Can they be borne on with the whirl of heaven: For in the lower portions of this whirl He says its speed and energy diminish And disappear; so that little by little The sun is outstripped by the signs that follow, Since he is far beneath the burning stars.
And the moon, so he says, more than the sun.
The lower and the further from the sky Her course is, and the nearer to the earth, The less can she keep even with the signs.
For the more languid is the whirl whereby She is borne along, being lower than the sun, The more do all the signs around her path Overtake and pass by her. Thus it is That she seems to move backward to each sign More quickly, because the signs come up to her.
It may be also that two streams of air Cross the sun’s path at fixed times, each in turn Flowing from opposite quarters of the world, Whereof the first may thrust the sun away Out of the summer signs, until he comes To his winter turning-point and the icy frost; While the other from the freezing shades of cold Sweeps him right back to the heat-laden regions And the torrid constellations. And just so We must suppose that the moon and the planets, Which roll in their huge orbits through huge years, May move on streams of air alternately From opposite quarters. Do you not also see How clouds are shifted by opposing winds, The lower in directions contrary To those above? Why should not yonder stars Be likewise carried by opposing currents Upon their mighty orbits through the sky?
But night covers the earth with vast darkness Either when after his long course the sun Has entered on the uttermost parts of heaven, And now grown languid has breathed forth his fires, Exhausted by their journey, and worn out By traversing much air; or else because That same force which has borne his orb along Above the earth, compels him now to turn Backward his course and pass beneath the earth.
Likewise at a fixed time Matuta spreads The rosy dawn abroad through the sky’s borders, And opens out her light; either because The same sun, travelling back below the earth, Seizes the sky beforehand, and is fain To kindle it with his rays; or else because Fires meet together, and many seeds of heat Are wont at a fixed time to stream together Causing new sunlight each day to be born.
Even so ’tis told that from the mountain heights Of Ida at daybreak scattered fires are seen; These then unite as if into one globe And make up the sun’s orb. Nor yet herein Should it cause wonder that these seeds of fire Can stream together at a time so fixed, Repairing thus the radiance of the sun.
For everywhere we see many events Happening at fixed times. Thus trees both flower And shed their blossoms at fixed times; and age At a time no less fixed bids the teeth drop, And the boy clothe his features with the down Of puberty, and let a soft beard fall From either cheek. Lastly lightning and snow, Rains, clouds and winds happen at more or less Regular yearly seasons. For where causes From the beginning have remained the same, And things from the first origin of the world Have so fallen out, they still repeat themselves In regular sequence after a fixed order.
The cause too why days lengthen and nights wane, While daylight shortens as the nights increase, May either be because the same sun, journeying Underneath and above the earth in curves Of unlike length, parts the celestial regions And into unequal halves divides his orbit: Whatever he has subtracted from one half, Just so much does he add, when he comes round, On to the other half, till he has reached That sign of heaven where the year’s node makes The night’s shade equal to the light of day.
For in the sun’s mid course between the blasts Of south wind and of north, the heaven holds His turning-points apart at distances Now equalised, since such is the position Of the whole starry circle, to glide through which The sun takes up the period of a year, Lighting the earth and sky with slanting rays, As is shown by the arguments of those Who have mapped out all the quarters of the sky, Adorned with their twelve signs spaced out in order.
Or else because the air in certain parts Is thicker, therefore the trembling lamp of fire Is hindered in its course beneath the earth, And cannot easily force a passage through And emerge at the place where it should rise.
So in winter-time the nights are long and lingering, Ere the day’s radiant oriflamme comes forth.
Or else again those fires which cause the sun To rise from a fixed point, for a like reason Are wont to stream together slower or quicker In alternating periods of the year.
So those would seem to speak the truth who hold That every morning a new sun is born.
It may be the moon shines because she is struck By the sun’s rays, and turns towards our eyes A larger portion of this light each day, The further she recedes from the sun’s orb, Until over against him with full light She has shone forth, and as she rises up Has looked upon his setting from on high.
Thereafter in her gradual backward course In the same manner she must hide her light, The nearer she now glides to the sun’s fire Travelling through the circle of the signs From an opposite direction: as those hold Who fancy that the moon is like a ball, And moves along a course below the sun.
It is also possible that she revolves With her own light, and yet shows varying Phases of brightness: for there may well be Another body which glides on beside her, Obstructing and occulting her continually, And yet cannot be seen, because it moves Without light. Or perhaps she may turn round Like a ball, let us say, whose sphere is tinged With glowing light over one-half its surface; And as she turns her sphere, she may present Varying phases, till she has turned that side Which glows with fire towards our gazing eyes; Then she twists gradually back once more And hides the luminous half of her round ball: As the Chaldean sages seek to prove, Refuting with their Babylonian doctrine The opposing science of the astronomers; Just as though what each sect is fighting for Might not be true, or there were any reason Why you should risk embracing the one creed Less than the other. Again why every time There should not be created a fresh moon, With fixed succession of phases and fixed shapes, So that each day this new-created moon Would perish, and another in its stead Be reproduced, this were no easy task To prove by argument convincingly, Since there can be so many things created In fixed succession. Thus Spring goes its way, And Venus, and the wingèd harbinger Of Venus leads them on; while treading close On Zephyr’s footsteps, mother Flora strews The path before them, covering it all over With every loveliest colour and rich scent.
Next in procession follows parching heat, With dusty Ceres in its company, And the Etesian blasts of the North winds.
After these Autumn comes, and by its side Advances Euhius Euan,[G] following whom The other Seasons with their winds appear, Volturnus thundering on high, and Auster Terrible with its lightnings. Then at length December brings snow and renews numb frost.
Winter follows with teeth chattering for cold.
Wherefore it seems less wonderful that the moon Should be begotten and destroyed again At fixed times, seeing that so many things Can come to pass at times so surely fixed.
Likewise the occultations of the sun And the moon’s vanishings you must suppose May be produced by many different causes.
For why should the moon be able to shut out The earth from the sun’s light, and lift her head On high to obstruct him from the earthward side, Blocking his fiery beams with her dark orb, And yet at the same time some other body Gliding on without light continually Should be supposed unable to do this?
Why too should not the sun at a fixed time Grow faint and lose his fires, and then again Revive his light, when he has had to pass Through tracts of air so hostile to his flames That awhile his fires are quenched by them and perish?
And why should the earth have power in turn to rob The moon of light, and likewise keep the sun Suppressed, while in her monthly course the moon Glides through the clear-cut shadows of the cone, And yet at the same time some other body Should not have power to pass under the moon, Or glide above the sun’s orb, breaking off The beams of light he sheds? And furthermore, If the moon shines with her own radiance, Why in a certain region of the world Might she not grow faint, while she makes her way Through tracts that are unfriendly to her light?
Now since I have demonstrated how each thing Might come to pass throughout the azure spaces Of the great heaven, how we may know what force Can cause the varying motions of the sun, And wanderings of the moon, and in what way Their light being intercepted they might vanish Covering with darkness the astonished earth, When as it were they close their eye of light, And opening it again, survey all places Radiant with shining brightness,--therefore now I will go back to the world’s infancy And the tender age of the world’s fields, and show What in their first fecundity they resolved To raise into the borders of the light And give in charge unto the wayward winds.
In the beginning the Earth brought forth all kinds Of plants and growing verdure on hillsides And over all the plains: the flowering meadows Shone with green colour: next to the various trees Was given a mighty emulous impulse To shoot up into the air with unchecked growth.
As feathers, hairs and bristles first are born On limbs of quadrupeds and on the bodies Of winged fowl, so the new Earth then put forth Grasses and brushwood first, and afterwards Gave birth to all the breeds of mortal things, That sprang up many in number, in many modes And divers fashions. For no animals Can have dropped from the sky, nor can land-creatures Have issued from the salt pools. Hence it is That with good reason the Earth has won the name Of Mother, since from the Earth all things are born.
And many living creatures even now Rise from the soil, formed by rains, and the sun’s Fierce heat. Therefore the less strange it appears If then they arose more numerous and more large Fostered by a new earth and atmosphere.
So first of all the varied families And tribes of birds would leave their eggs, hatched out In the spring season, as now the cicadas In summer-time leave of their own accord Their filmy skins in search of food and life.
Then was the time when first the Earth produced The race of mortal men. For in the fields Plenteous heat and moisture would abound, So that wherever a fit place occurred, Wombs would grow, fastened to the earth by roots: And when the warmth of the infants in due time, Avoiding moisture and demanding air, Had broken these wombs open, then would Nature Turn to that place the porous ducts of the Earth, Compelling it to exude through open veins A milk-like liquid, just as nowadays After child-bearing every woman is filled With sweet milk; for with her too the whole flow Of nutriment sets streaming towards her breasts.
Earth to these children furnished food, the heat Clothing, the grass a bed, well lined with rich Luxuriance of soft down. Moreover then The world in its fresh newness would give rise Neither to rigorous cold nor extreme heat, Nor violent storms of wind, for in a like Proportion all things grow and gather strength.
Therefore again and yet again I say That with good reason the Earth has won and keeps The name of Mother, since she of herself Gave birth to humankind, and at a period Well nigh determined shed forth every beast That roams o’er the great mountains far and wide, Likewise the birds of air, many in shape.
But because she must have some limit set To her time of bearing, she ceased, like a woman Worn out by lapse of years. For Time transforms The whole world’s nature, and all things must pass From one condition to another: nothing Continues like itself. All is in flux: Nature is ever changing and compelling All that exists to alter. For one thing Moulders and wastes away grown weak with age, And then another comes forth into light, Issuing from obscurity. So thus Time Changes the whole world’s nature, and the Earth Passes from one condition to another: So that what once it bore it can no longer, And now can bear what it did not before.
And many monsters too did the Earth essay To produce in those days, creatures arising With marvellous face and limbs, the Hermaphrodite, A thing of neither sex, between the two, Differing from both: some things deprived of feet; Others again with no hands; others dumb Without mouths, or else blind for lack of eyes, Or bound by limbs that everywhere adhered Fast to their bodies, so that they could perform No function, nor go anywhere, nor shun Danger, nor take what their need might require.
Many such monstrous prodigies did Earth Produce, in vain, since Nature banned their increase, Nor could they reach the coveted flower of age, Nor find food, nor be joined in bonds of love.
For we see numerous conditions first Must meet together, before living things Can beget and perpetuate their kind.
First they must have food, then a means by which The seeds of birth may stream throughout the frame From the relaxed limbs; also that the male And female may unite, they must have that Whereby each may exchange mutual joys.
And many breeds of creatures in those days Must have died out, being powerless to beget And perpetuate their kind. For those which now You see breathing the breath of life, ’tis craft, Or courage, or else speed, that from its origin Must have protected and preserved each race.
Moreover many by their usefulness Commended to us, continue to exist Favoured by our protection. The fierce breed Of lions first, and the other savage beasts, Their courage has preserved, foxes their craft, Stags their swift flight. But the light-slumbering hearts Of faithful dogs, and the whole family Born from the seed of burden-bearing beasts, Also the woolly flocks and horned herds, All these by man’s protection are preserved.
For their desire has always been to shun Wild beasts and to live peaceably, supplied Without toil of their own with food in plenty, Which to reward their services we give them.
But those whom Nature has not thus endowed With power either to live by their own means Or else to render us such useful service That in return we allow their race to feed And dwell in safety beneath our guardianship, All these, ’tis plain, would lie exposed a prey To others, trammelled in their own fatal bonds, Till Nature had extinguished that whole kind.
But Centaurs there have never been, nor yet Ever can things exist of twofold nature And double body moulded into one From limbs of alien kind, whose faculties And functions cannot be on either side Sufficiently alike. That this is so, The dullest intellect may be thus convinced.
Consider first that a horse after three years Is in his flower of vigour, but a boy By no means so: for often in sleep even then Will he seek milk still from his mother’s breasts Afterwards, when the horse’s lusty strength Fails him in old age, and his limbs grow languid As life ebbs, then first for a boy begins The flowering time of youth, and clothes his cheeks With soft down. Do not then believe that ever From man’s and burden-bearing horse’s seed Centaurs can be compounded and have being; Nor yet Scyllas with half-fish bodies girdled With raging dogs, and other suchlike things, Whose limbs we see discordant with themselves, Since neither do they reach their flower together, Nor acquire bodily strength, nor in old age Lose it at the same time: dissimilar In each the love that burns them, and their modes Of life incongruous: nor do the same things give Their bodies pleasure. Thus we may often see Bearded goats thrive on hemlock, which for man Is virulent poison. Since moreover flame Is wont to scorch and burn the tawny bodies Of lions no less than every other kind Of flesh and blood on earth, how could it be That one, yet with a triple body, in front A lion, behind a serpent, in the midst Its goat’s self, a Chimaera should breathe forth From such a body fierce flame at the mouth?
Therefore he who can fable that when earth Was new and the sky young, such animals Could have been propagated, resting alone Upon this vain term, newness, he no doubt Will babble out many follies in like fashion, Will say that rivers then throughout the earth Commonly flowed with gold, that trees were wont To bloom with jewels, or that man was born Of such huge bulk and force that he could wade With giant strides across deep seas and turn The whole heaven round about him with his hands.
For the fact that there were many seeds of things Within the earth at that time when it first Shed living creatures forth, is yet no proof That beasts could have been born of mingled kinds, Or limbs of different animals joined together; Because the various families of plants, The crops and thriving trees, which even now Teem upward from the soil luxuriantly, Can yet never be born woven together; But each thing has its own process of growth: All must preserve their mutual differences, Governed by Nature’s irreversible law.
But that first race of men in the open fields Was hardier far, (small wonder, since hard Earth Had brought it forth,) built too around a frame Of bones more large and solid, knit together By powerful sinews; nor was it easily Impaired by heat or cold, nor by strange foods, Nor yet by any bodily disease.
And during many revolving periods Of the sun through the sky, they lived their lives After the roving habit of wild beasts.
No one was then the bent plough’s stalwart guide, None yet had knowledge how to till the fields With iron, or plant young saplings in the soil, Nor how to lop old boughs from the tall trees With pruning-hooks. What suns and rains had given, What of her own free will Earth had brought forth, Was enough bounty to content their hearts.
’Neath acorn-bearing oak-trees their wont was To alleviate their hunger; and those berries Which now upon the arbutus you see Ripening to scarlet hues in winter-time, The Earth then bore more plentifully and larger Than in these days. Moreover then the world’s Luxuriant youth gave birth to many kinds Of coarse food, ample enough for wretched men.
But to allay their thirst rivers and springs Invited, as now waters, tumbling down From the great mountains with clear-sounding plash, Summon from far the thirsting tribes of beasts.
Furthermore in their roamings they would visit Those renowned silvan precincts of the Nymphs, Caverns wherefrom they knew that copious streams, Gushing forth smoothly, bathed the dripping rocks, (The dripping rocks, o’er green moss trickling down,) Or sometimes welled up over the level plain.
As yet they knew not how to employ fire,