Lucius Seneca - Yale Required Reading - Collected Works (Vol. 2)

Whate'er it got within itself. So he,

The master, then by his truth-speaking words,

Purged the breasts of men, and set the bounds

Of lust and terror, and exhibited

The supreme good whither we all endeavour,

And showed the path whereby we might arrive

Thereunto by a little cross-cut straight,

And what of ills in all affairs of mortals

Upsprang and flitted deviously about

(Whether by chance or force), since nature thus

Had destined; and from out what gates a man

Should sally to each combat. And he proved

That mostly vainly doth the human race

Roll in its bosom the grim waves of care.

For just as children tremble and fear all

In the viewless dark, so even we at times

Dread in the light so many things that be

No whit more fearsome than what children feign,

Shuddering, will be upon them in the dark.

This terror then, this darkness of the mind,

Not sunrise with its flaring spokes of light,

Nor glittering arrows of morning can disperse,

But only nature's aspect and her law.

Wherefore the more will I go on to weave

In verses this my undertaken task.

And since I've taught thee that the world's great vaults

Are mortal and that sky is fashioned

Of frame e'en born in time, and whatsoe'er

Therein go on and must perforce go on

The most I have unravelled; what remains

Do thou take in, besides; since once for all

To climb into that chariot' renowned

Of winds arise; and they appeased are

So that all things again...

Which were, are changed now, with fury stilled;

All other movements through the earth and sky

Which mortals gaze upon (O anxious oft

In quaking thoughts!), and which abase their minds

With dread of deities and press them crushed

Down to the earth, because their ignorance

Of cosmic causes forces them to yield

All things unto the empery of gods

And to concede the kingly rule to them.

For even those men who have learned full well

That godheads lead a long life free of care,

If yet meanwhile they wonder by what plan

Things can go on (and chiefly yon high things

Observed o'erhead on the ethereal coasts),

Again are hurried back unto the fears

Of old religion and adopt again

Harsh masters, deemed almighty,—wretched men,

Unwitting what can be and what cannot,

And by what law to each its scope prescribed,

Its boundary stone that clings so deep in Time.

Wherefore the more are they borne wandering on

By blindfold reason. And, Memmius, unless

From out thy mind thou spuest all of this

And casteth far from thee all thoughts which be

Unworthy gods and alien to their peace,

Then often will the holy majesties

Of the high gods be harmful unto thee,

As by thy thought degraded,—not, indeed,

That essence supreme of gods could be by this

So outraged as in wrath to thirst to seek

Revenges keen; but even because thyself

Thou plaguest with the notion that the gods,

Even they, the Calm Ones in serene repose,

Do roll the mighty waves of wrath on wrath;

Nor wilt thou enter with a serene breast

Shrines of the gods; nor wilt thou able be

In tranquil peace of mind to take and know

Those images which from their holy bodies

Are carried into intellects of men,

As the announcers of their form divine.

What sort of life will follow after this

'Tis thine to see. But that afar from us

Veriest reason may drive such life away,

Much yet remains to be embellished yet

In polished verses, albeit hath issued forth

So much from me already; lo, there is

The law and aspect of the sky to be

By reason grasped; there are the tempest times

And the bright lightnings to be hymned now—

Even what they do and from what cause soe'er

They're borne along—that thou mayst tremble not,

Marking off regions of prophetic skies

For auguries, O foolishly distraught

Even as to whence the flying flame hath come,

Or to which half of heaven it turns, or how

Through walled places it hath wound its way,

Or, after proving its dominion there,

How it hath speeded forth from thence amain—

Whereof nowise the causes do men know,

And think divinities are working there.

Do thou, Calliope, ingenious Muse,

Solace of mortals and delight of gods,

Point out the course before me, as I race

On to the white line of the utmost goal,

That I may get with signal praise the crown,

With thee my guide!

Table of Contents

And so in first place, then,

With thunder are shaken the blue deeps of heaven,

Because the ethereal clouds, scudding aloft,

Together clash, what time 'gainst one another

The winds are battling. For never a sound there comes

From out the serene regions of the sky;

But wheresoever in a host more dense

The clouds foregather, thence more often comes

A crash with mighty rumbling. And, again,

Clouds cannot be of so condensed a frame

As stones and timbers, nor again so fine

As mists and flying smoke; for then perforce

They'd either fall, borne down by their brute weight,

Like stones, or, like the smoke, they'd powerless be

To keep their mass, or to retain within

Frore snows and storms of hail. And they give forth

O'er skiey levels of the spreading world

A sound on high, as linen-awning, stretched

O'er mighty theatres, gives forth at times

A cracking roar, when much 'tis beaten about

Betwixt the poles and cross-beams. Sometimes, too,

Asunder rent by wanton gusts, it raves

And imitates the tearing sound of sheets

Of paper—even this kind of noise thou mayst

In thunder hear—or sound as when winds whirl

With lashings and do buffet about in air

A hanging cloth and flying paper-sheets.

For sometimes, too, it chances that the clouds

Cannot together crash head-on, but rather

Move side-wise and with motions contrary

Graze each the other's body without speed,

From whence that dry sound grateth on our ears,

So long drawn-out, until the clouds have passed

From out their close positions.

And, again,

In following wise all things seem oft to quake

At shock of heavy thunder, and mightiest walls

Of the wide reaches of the upper world

There on the instant to have sprung apart,

Riven asunder, what time a gathered blast

Of the fierce hurricane hath all at once

Twisted its way into a mass of clouds,

And, there enclosed, ever more and more

Compelleth by its spinning whirl the cloud

To grow all hollow with a thickened crust

Surrounding; for thereafter, when the force

And the keen onset of the wind have weakened

That crust, lo, then the cloud, to-split in twain,

Gives forth a hideous crash with bang and boom.

No marvel this; since oft a bladder small,

Filled up with air, will, when of sudden burst,

Give forth a like large sound.

There's reason, too,

Why clouds make sounds, as through them blow the winds:

We see, borne down the sky, oft shapes of clouds

Rough-edged or branched many forky ways;

And 'tis the same, as when the sudden flaws

Of north-west wind through the dense forest blow,

Making the leaves to sough and limbs to crash.

It happens too at times that roused force

Of the fierce hurricane to-rends the cloud,

Breaking right through it by a front assault;

For what a blast of wind may do up there

Is manifest from facts when here on earth