Therefore the former foul muft needs be dead; And that, which now informs us, newly made.

But when the body's made, when we begin
To view the light, if then the soul creep'd in, 650
How is it likely it fhould feem to grow,
Increase, and flourish, as the members do?
No: the would live confin'd to her clofe cage,
With pow'rs, as great in infancy, as age.
Again then and again, the foul is born and dies:
For let's fuppofe it fram'd without; what ties
Could knit this foul fo clofe? How could this mind,
As fenfe affures, with ev'ry limb be twin'd?
For now 'tis knit to ev'ry nerve, and vein,

To ev'ry bone, that ev'n the teeth feel pain: 660
As when with fudden chop they grind a stone;
Or when cold water thrills the heated bone.
Since then 'tis join'd fo clofe, how can this foul,

Befides; why lions fury? Why the deer From their cold fires derive their natʼral fear? 710 Why foxes craft? Why proper pow'rs adorn | Each diff'rent kind, unless the fouls are born? For were the fouls immortal, could the mind Fly off, and leave his former cafe behind, And take another of a diff'rent kind? What change in an'mals manners must appear? The tyger-dog would fly pursuing deer; The hawk forget his rage, and learn to fear, Trembling at ev'ry little dove that flies; Men would be foolith all; and beafts be wife. For 'tis abfurd, that this immortal mind Should change according to the diff'rent kind Of body, unto which the foul's confin'd. For things thus changeable, the natʼral tie Of union broke, the fcatter'd parts can fly

719

cure and whole?

But now fuppofe the mind was fram'd before, And then infus'd: Grant this, I'll afk no more: This proves 'tis mortal too: for while the foul Infinuates her fubftance o'er the whole, Its parts niu be diffolv'd; the nat'ral tie Of union loos'd. Therefore the foul can die. 670 As meats, diffus'd through all the members, lefe Their former nature, diff'rent things compofe: So minds, though fafe and whole they first begin To enter, are diffolv'd in ent'ring in, Because thofe fubtle parts, this foul contains, Must be diffus'd through all the nerves and veins: And that which enter'd, rules the body now, Is the fame foul, that dy'd in paffing through; And therefore fouls are born, and perish too.

But grant you can believe, a proper foul
For ev'ry worm defcends fecure and whole;
Nor think it strange, that when the former's gone,
A thousand little fouls fhould come for one; 690
Yet ftill 'tis doubtful, whether ev'ry mind
Hunts carefully for feeds of proper kind,
And fashions its own cafe, or elfe does wait
Till all the limbs are perfect, all complete,
And then goes proudly in, and takes her feat.
For what thould promp the foul to all this pains?
What make her work? Since free from flavish
chains

Of matter; hunger, cold, no fharp disease,
To anxious cares her happy fubstance feize:
From the united limbs fhe 1uffers these.
But grant it good for minds to put on clay,
How are the bodies forn.'d, what curious way?
How, in what manner is the action done?
Souls cannot, therefore do not frame their own.
And did they enter perfect frames, what art
Cou.d fubt'ly twine one foul with ev'ry part;
That this fhould act on that fo nearly join'd;
The mind affect the limbs; the limbs the mind?

But if they fay, that fouls, expell'd by fate, To other bodies of like kind retreat; Then tell me why: Why does the wifeft foul, When creep'd into a child, become a fool? 730 Why cannot new born colts perform the courie With equal training as a full grown horfe? | But that the fouls are born, increase, and grow, And rife mature, as all their bodies do. Perchance they'll fay; weak minds, and tender fenfe

Belong to tender bodies: Poor defence! This yields the caufe: this grants that minds are frail,

Whofe former life and pow'rs can change and fail.

740

Befides; come tell me, why a foul fhould grow, And rife mature, as all the members do? If 'twere not born? When feeble age comes on, Why is't in hafte, and eager to be gone? What? does it fear, it makes fuch hafte away, To be imprifou'd in the ftinking clay? What? does it fear the aged heap's decay? Or that 'twill fall, and crush the mind beneath? Fond fear! immortal beings are exempt from

death.

750

'Tis fond to think, that whilft wild beasts beget, Or bear their young, a thousand fouls do wait, Expect the falling body, fight and strive, Which firft fhall enter in, and make it live. Or is't agreed, do previous leagues declare, That 'tis her lawful right, who firft comes there,

To enter in; and fo no need of war?

Befides; no trees in heav'n, no stars below, The hills no fish, the ftones no moisture know; Each has its proper place to live and grow. So neither fouls can live without the blood, And nerves, and veins, and bones: for grant they could,

759

Then through one fingle part, as arm, or head, 'I would first be fram'd; and thence o'er th' others

fpread:

As water, into veffels pour'd, does fall
First to one part, then rife, and cover all.
But fince 'tis certain, that a proper place
Is fettled for the lile, and the increase
Of mind and foul, 'tis folly to believe,
They can be made without the limbs, or live.

Therefore the foul, spread o'er the limbs, must fail,

And die with them, as years and death prevail. For that immortal beings fhould lie confin'd 770 To mortal, and their diff'rent pow'rs be join'd, And act on one another, is abfurd;

[ford, Plain nonfenfe! What more fond can dreams afThan mortal with immortal join'd in one, Should feel thofe harms, 'twas free from when alone?

Befides, what is immortal, must be fo

Becaufe 'tis folid, 'bove the pow'r of blow; Whofe parts no wedge divides; which knows no pore;

780

And fuch are feeds, as I explain'd before :
Or elfe, because like empty space, 'tis fuch
As is fecure from ftroke, and free from touch;
Or elle, because it can admit no bound,
fis infinite, and knows no place beyond
To which the feeds may fink: this makes the all
Eternal; there's no place whence feeds may fall,
And breed confufion there: no fpace does lie

When we revolve how num'rous years have run,
How oft the east beheld the rifing fun,
Ere we began, and how the atoms move,
How the unthinking feeds for ever strove;
'Tis probable, and reafon's laws allow,

Thefe feeds of ours were once combin'd as now:
Yet now who minds, who knows his former ftate,
The interim of death, the hand of fate,

Or ftopp'd the feeds, or made them all commence
Such motions, as deftroy'd the former fenfe?, 840
He that is miferable, must perceive
Whilft he is fo: he then must be and live:
But now, fince death permits to feel no more
Those cares,
those troubles which we felt before:
It follows too, that when we die again,
We need not fear; for he muft live who lives in

pain.

But now the dead, though they fhould all return To life again, would grieve no more, nor mourn

789

And leave the mighty all to waste and die.
Now 'tis not perfect folid; ev'ry mafs
Between the feeds contains fome empty space:
Nor is it void untouch'd; for fubtle wind,
With rapid ftorms, can hurry on the mind,
Or take one part, and leave the reft behind.
Befides, there's fpace enough, to which the tie
Of union loos'd, the scatter'd parts may fly.
Thus then the mind is mortal, and can die.
But if you think't immortal, free from wound,
Because its fubftance is encompafs'd round,
Fenc'd from deftructive caufes; or that fuch

800

Can very feldom if at all approach:
Or if they fhould fly off before they make
Confufion there: this is a grand mistake :
For, not to mention how difeafes vex
The foul, what fears of future ills perplex;
Whence guilty confcience fhall affright the mind;
For fins ftrike deep, and leave defpair behind :
'Tis mad, forgetful, fometimes lethargy,
And deadlike fleep fit heavy on the eye.
Then what has bugbear death to frighten man,
Since foul can die as well as bodies can? 810
For as we neither knew, nor'felt thofe harms,
When dreadful Carthage frighted Rome with

arms,

And all the world was fhook with fierce alarms;_
Whilst undecided yet, which part should fall,
Which nation rife the glorious lord of all:
So after death, when we fhall be no more,
What though the feas forfake their usual shore,
And rife to heav'n? What though stars drop from
thence?

How can all this disturb our perifh'd sense?

But now, fuppole the foul when separate, 820 Can live, and think in a divided state; Yet what is that to us, who are the whole, A frame compos'd of body, join'd with foul? Nay grant the fcatter'd afhes of our urn Be join'd again, and life and fenfe return; Yet how can that concern us when 'tis done; Since all the mem'ry of paft life is gone?

Now when you hear a man complain, and

And mourn his fate, because, when life is gone,
His limbs muft wafte, and rot in earth, or feast
The greedy flames, or fome devouring beast,
All is not well: He, by ftrong fancy led,
Imagines fenfe remains among the dead.
Nor can I think, though he himself denies,
And openly declares the whole man dies,
But that fome ftrong conceits he still believes,
Fond fool that he himself himself survives :
For now, ev'n while he breathes, ev'n while he
lives,
860
And thinks he must be torn, or burnt, he grieves :
Thinks ftill his carcafe must be he, and thence
His idle fears infer, there must be sense:
And hence he grieves, that he was born to die,
Subject to treacherous mortality:
[death
But never thinks, fond fool! that when kind
Shall clofe his eyes in night, and ftop his breath,
Then nothing of this thinking thing remains
To mourn his fate, or feel fharp griefs and pains.
And if 'tis miferable to be torn
869

By beafts, when dead; why is't not fo to burn?
If that's an ill, why not as great a one
To be opprefs'd with earth, or marble stone?
Or dipp'd all o'er in honey? or be roll'd,
O'er boift'rous waves, on cliffs expos'd to cold?

Ay, but he now is fnatch'd from all his joys;
No more fhall his chafte wife, or prattling boys
Run to their dad with eager hafte, and itrive
Which firft fhall have a kifs, as when alive. 870
Ay, but he now no more from wars fhall come,
Bring peace and fafety to his friends at home.
Wretched, O wretched man! one fatal day
Has inatch'd the vaft delights of life away:
Thus they bewail, but go no farther on;
Nor add, that his defires and wants are gone;
Which if they thought, how foon would all give

o'er

Their empty, caufelefs fears, and weep no more?

'Tis true, thou fleep'st in death, and there fhalt lie, Free from all cares, to all eternity: 889 But we fhall mourn thee ftill; no length of years Shall overcome our grief or dry our tears. Now I would gladly know, come tell me why, Why dost thou pine with grief, and weep, and figh?

Why dost thou vex thyself, and beat thy breast, Because thou once must sleep in death, and rest? So when the jolly blades, with garlands crown'd, Sit down to drink, while frequent healths go round,

900

Some, looking grave, this obfervation make:
All the delights are fhort we men can take :
Now we enjoy, but gone, we wish in vain,
In vain defire to call them back again :
As if the greatest ill in graves they fear,
Were thirst, or to want wine, or garlands there,
Or any other thing they fancy here.
Fools! ev'n in common fleep what cares moleft?
What thoughts for life, or health, disturb our reft?
For men eternally might ftill fleep on,

920

And thus with loud complaints our folly check:
Fond mortal, what's the matter thou doft sigh?
Why all thefe fears, becaufe thou once muft die,
Muft once fubmit to ftrong mortality?
For if the race thou haft already run
Was pleafant; if with joy thou faw'ft the fun;
If all thy pleasures did not pafs thy mind
As through a fieve, but left fome fweets behind,
Why doft thou not then, like a thankful guest,
Rife cheerfully from life's abundant feaft,
And with a quiet mind go take thy reft?
But if all thofe delights are loft and gone,
Spilt idly all, and life a burden grown;
Then why, fond mortal, doft thou afk for

more,

9307

Why fill defire t' increafe thy wretched ftore,

Him fhe more fiercely chides: Forbear, thy fights, Thou wretch, cease thy complaints, and dry thy

eyes.

If old, thou haft enjoy'd the mighty store
Of gay delights, and now can't taste no more;
But yet because thou still did'ft ftrive to meet 941
The abfent, and contemn'dft the prefent fweet,
Death feems unwelcome, and thy race half run,
Thy course of life seems ended, when begun;
And unexpected hasty death destroys,
Before thy greedy mind is full of joys.
Yet leave thefe toys, that none befit thy age;
New actors now come on; refign the stage.
If thus fhe chides, I think 'tis well enough;
I think 'tis nothing but a just reproof:
For rifing beings ftill the old pursue,
And take their place; old die, and frame the

new:

дво

But nothing finks to hell, and fulph'rous flames,
The feeds remain to make the future frames :
All which fhall yield to fate as well as thou;
And things fell heretofore ev'n just as now:
And till decaying things fhall new produce;
For life's not giv'n to poffefs, but use.
Thofe ages that in long poffeffion ran,
And meafur'd hafty time, ere we began; [on;
What are they all to us? From this think farther
And what is time to us, when life is gone?
Befides, what dreadful things in death appear?
What tolerahle caufe for all our fear?
What fad, what dismal thoughts do bid us weep?
Death is a quiet ftate, and foft as fleep.
And all, which we from pocts tales receive,
As done below, we fee, ev'n whilft alive.
No wretched Tantalus, as ftories tell,
Looks up, and dreads th' impending stone in hell:
But heavy weights of fuperftitious care
Opprefs the living; they difturb us here,
And force us chance, and future ills to fear.
No Tityus there is by the eagle torn;
No new fupplies of liver ftill are born:`
For grant him big enough, that all the nine,
Thofe poets acres, his vaft limbs confine
To narrow bounds; but let him spread o'er all,
And let his arms clafp round the watʼry ball;
Yet how could he endure eternal pain?
And now his eaten liver grow again?
But he's the Tityus here, that lies opprefs'd

9817

Not rather free thyfelf from pains and fear,
And end thy life, and neceffary care?
My pleasures always in a circle run,
The fame returning with the yearly fun.

And thus, though thou doft ftill enjoy thy prime;
And though thy limbs feel not the rage of time;
Yet I can find no new, no fresh delight,
The fame dull joys muft vex the appetite,
Although thou could't prolong thy wretched
breath

940

[death.

For num'rous years, much more if free from
What could we anfwer, wha excufes truft?
We must confefs that her reproofs are juft.
But if a wretch a man opprefs'd by fate,
Mourns coming death, and begs a longer date,

Thefe are the eagles that ftill tear his breast.

999

He's Sifyphus, that ftrives with mighty pain To get fome offices, but ftrives in vain ; Who poorly, meanly, begs the people's voice, But ftill refus'd, and ne'er enjoys the choice: For itill to feek, and ftill in hopes devour, And never to enjoy the long'd-for pow'r, 1000 What is it but to roll a weighty stone Against the hill, which straight will tumble down? Almoft at top. it must return again,

And with iwilt force roll through the humble plain.

Laftly, fince nature feeds with gay delight, And never fills the greedy appetite, Since ev'ry year, with the returning fprings, She new delights, and joys, and pleasures brings:

ΙΟΙΟ

And yet our minds, amidit this mighty store,
Are ftill unfatisfy'd, and wish for more:
Sure this they mean, who teach that maids below
Do idle pains, and care, and time bestow,
In pouring ftreams into a leaky urn,
Which flow as fast again, as fast return.

The furies, Cerberus, black hell, and flames,
Are airy fancies all, mere empty names:
But whilft we live, the fear of dreadful pains
For wicked deeds, the prifon, fcourge, and chains,
The wheel, the block, the fire, affright the mind,
Strike deep, and leave a conftant fting behind. 1020
Nay, thofe not felt, the guilty foul prefents
Thefe dreadful fhapes, and ftill herself torments,
Scourges and ftings; nor even feems to know
An end of thefe, but fears more fierce below,
Eternal all. Thus fancy'd pains we feel,
And live as wretched here as if in hell.
But more to comfort thee-
Confider, Ancus perifh'd long ago;
Ancus, a better man by much than thou:
Confider, mighty kings in pomp and state
Fall, and inglorioufly submit to fate.

Is by the mind's own nat'ral weight opprefs'd.
Did they know this, as they all think they know,
They would not lead fuch lives as now they do;
Not know their own defires, but feck to find
Strange places out, and leave this weight behind.
One, tir'd at home, forfakes his stately feat,
And seeks fome melancholy close retreat,
But foon returns; for, prefs'd beneath his load
Of cares, he finds no more content abroad:
Others, with full as eager hafte, retire,
As if their father's houfe were all on fire,
To their small farm; but yet, scarce enter'd

there,

1070

Confider, even he, that mighty he, Who laugh'd at all the threat'ning of the fea; Who chain'd the ocean once, and proudly led His legions o'er the fetter'd waves, is dead. Scipio, that fcourge of Carthage, now the grave Keeps pris'ner, like the meaneft common flave. Nay, greatest wits, and poets too, that give Eternity to others, ceafe to live. Homer, their prince, that darling of the nine (What Troy would at a fecond fall repine To be thus fung)' is nothing now but fame; A lafting, far diffus'd, but empty name.

1039

Democritus, as feeble age came on,
And told him it was time he fhould be gone;
For then his mind's brifk pow'rs grew weak, he
cry'd,

I will obey thy fummons, fate, and dy'd.
Nay, Epicurus' race of life is run;
That man of wit, who other men outfhone,
As far as meaner stars the mid-day fun. 1050
Then how dar'ft thou repine to die, and grieve,
Thou meaner foul, thou dead, ev'n whilft alive?
That fleep'ft, and dream'ft the most of life away;
Thy night is full as rational as thy day?
Still vex'd with cares, who never understood
The principles of ill, nor use of good;

main ;

For they ne'er know the cause of all their pain :
Which if they did, how foon would all give o'er
Their fruitless toys, and ftudy nature more? 1080
That is a noble search, and worth our care;
On that depends eternal hope or fear:
That teaches how to look beyond our fate,
And fully fhows us all our future state.

Our life must once have end: in vain we fly
Pursuing fate; ev'n now, ev'n now we die.
Life adds no new delights to thofe poffefs'd;
But fince the abfent pleasures feem the best,
With wing'd defire and hafte we those pursue;
But thofe enjoy'd we lothe, and call for new. 1090
Life, life we wifh, ftill greedy to live on;
And yet what fortune with the foll'wing fun
Will rife, what chance will bring, is all un-
known.

What though a thousand years prolong thy breath,

How can this fhorten the long state of death?
For though thy life shall num'rous ages fill,
The ftate of death will be eternal ftill:
And he that dies to-day, fhall be no more,
As long as those that perifh'd long before.

Ver. 1. In the first thirty-two verfes of this book, Lucretius addreffes himself to Epicurus of Athens, and calls him the father of the Epicurean philofophy. Democritus, indeed, was the first who fet it on foot; but Epicurus fo improv ed and perfected it, that the poet, with good reafon, ftyles him the parent and inventor of it. He praifes him for the happiness of his wit, and

acknowledges the benefits he has conferred on mankind, in having explained the Nature of Things, overthrown all belief of Providence, and expelled the fears and terrors that arose from that opinion. Then he afferts almost the same thing, that L. Torquatus does, in Cicero, lib. i. de Finib. "Ego arbitror Epicurum unum vidiffe verum, maximifque erroribus hominum animos liberaffe,

et omnia tradidiffe, que pertinent ad bene beateque vivendum." I am of opinion, that Epicurus only difcovered the truth, that he delivered the minds of men from the greatest errors, and taught all things that conduce to a good and happy life. Ver. 3. He means Epicurus. See the note on ver. 88. Book i.

Ver. 5. The words in the original are,

-Quid enim contendat hirundo

Cienis?

And how our tranflator came to change the fwallow to larks, I cannot well tell; nor why, in this place, he gives to the fwan the epithet of vigorous: Lucretius certainly alludes to the finging of the fwan, not to his ftrength: Befides, the lark is a tuneful bird, and perhaps fings sweeter than the fwan; for fwans and geefe, I believe, are alike melodious; though the first of them have had the good fortune to be celebrated by all the ancient poets for the sweetness of their voice: And even Macrobius, on the dream of Scipio, lib. ii. cap. 3. fays, " Aves quoque, ut lufcinia, ut cygni aliæque id genus, cantum veluti quadam difciplina artis exercent.' See the note on ver.

479 of Book ii. But fwallows, on the contrary, are blamed for their harsh chattering. Thus Anacreon, Ode xii.

And the Anthology gives the fame name to Pindar:

Θήβης ὠγυγίης Ελικώνιος ἴσατο κύχνος
Πίνδαρος ὀμερόφωνος.

Tuneful Pindar, the Heliconian fwan of ancient Thebes: Thus too Virgil is called "Mantuanus Olor," the Swan of Mantua : And Theocritus terms the poets Μεσῶν ὄρνιθες, the birds of the mufes, as the commentators fay, in allufion to fwans, which Callimachus calls Muráwv ögviên; and in another place, 'Aróλdaves wagi gar, the affociates of Apollo, which is indeed a bold expreffion; but they were confecrated to him, and confequently beloved by the mufes and poets. More. over, Cicero, in Tufcul. i. fays, that the fwallow being an importunate, chattering bird, reprefents the ignorant; but the fwan, who never fings till he feels his death approaching, feems by that to

foresee that there is fome good in death, and therefore it is an emblem of the learned: Whence the Greek adage, Tol ärovrai xúxroi, öτar xidm

answer The swans will fing, when the jays hold their peace, is faid of thofe filly tattlers, who ought to be filent in presence of the learned.

Ver. 11. An excellent comparifon! Lucretius avouches, that, like the induftrious bee, he gathers honey from the moft fragrant flowers, while he colleas and follows the wife doctrine and leffons of Epicurus.

Ver. 13. Faber believes he alludes in this place to the Xgúra "En, golden verfes of Pythagoras. Ver. 17. For what reafon is there that men fhould fear the gods, whom they now know not to have been the authors of this world, nor to take any notice or care of the affairs of it?

Ver. 19. Apparet divum nomen," fays Lucretius, looking through the gaping walls of the world, I plainly fee the gods, no lefs than I do all things elfe; but " nufquam apparent Acherufia templa,"

No hell, no fulph'rous lakes, no pools appear.

Ver. 26.

Ver. 23. That is to fay, for the gods. Thus too, Book i. ver. 81. fpeaking of the nature of the gods, he afferts it to be

Sufficient to its own felicity;

And that it wants nothing that is in our power to give it.

Ipfa fuis pollens opibus, nil indiga noftri.
Luer. l. I. v. 61.

Ver. 26. Lucretius fays only, -Nufquam apparent Acherufia templa. See the note, Book i. ver. 152. And methinks our tranflator, in this place, feems to have had in view, not fo much the fabulous hell of the heathens, which Lucretius denied, and derided, as that real place of eternal torment that we Chrifti. ans juftly believe, and tremble at; and which is thus excellently painted by Milton, in all its bor

ror: