that bodies of matter, made Completely solid, hither and thither fly Forevermore unconquered through all time,Now come, and whether to the sum of them
There be a limit or be none, for thee
Let us unfold; likewise what has been found To be the wide inane, or room, or space Wherein all things soever do go on,
Let us examine if it finite be
All and entire, or reach unmeasured round
And downward an illimitable profound.
Thus, then, the All that is is limited
In no one region of its onward paths, For then 'tmust have forever its beyond. And a beyond 'tis seen can never be
For aught, unless still further on there be
A somewhat somewhere that may bound the same-- So that the thing be seen still on to where
The nature of sensation of that thing
Can follow it no longer. Now because
Confess we must there's naught beside the sum, There's no beyond, and so it lacks all end.
It matters nothing where thou post thyself, In whatsoever regions of the same;
Even any place a man has set him down
Still leaves about him the unbounded all
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Outward in all directions; or, supposing
A moment the all of space finite to be,
If some one farthest traveller runs forth Unto the extreme coasts and throws ahead A flying spear, is't then thy wish to think
It goes, hurled off amain, to where 'twas sent And shoots afar, or that some object there Can thwart and stop it? For the one or other Thou must admit and take. Either of which Shuts off escape for thee, and does compel
That thou concede the all spreads everywhere, Owning no confines. Since whether there be Aught that may block and check it so it comes Not where 'twas sent, nor lodges in its goal,
Or whether borne along, in either view
'Thas started not from any end. And so
I'll follow on, and whereso'er thou set
The extreme coasts, I'll query, "what becomes Thereafter of thy spear?" 'Twill come to pass That nowhere can a world's-end be, and that The chance for further flight prolongs forever The flight itself. Besides, were all the space
Of the totality and sum shut in
With fixed coasts, and bounded everywhere,
Then would the abundance of world's matter flow
Together by solid weight from everywhere Still downward to the bottom of the world, Nor aught could happen under cope of sky, Nor could there be a sky at all or sun-- Indeed, where matter all one heap would lie, By having settled during infinite time.
But in reality, repose is given
Unto no bodies 'mongst the elements, Because there is no bottom whereunto
They might, as 'twere, together flow, and where
They might take up their undisturbed abodes. In endless motion everything goes on Forevermore; out of all regions, even
Out of the pit below, from forth the vast, Are hurtled bodies evermore supplied.
The nature of room, the space of the abyss
Is such that even the flashing thunderbolts
Can neither speed upon their courses through, Gliding across eternal tracts of time,
Nor, further, bring to pass, as on they run, That they may bate their journeying one whit:
Such huge abundance spreads for things around-- Room off to every quarter, without end.
Lastly, before our very eyes is seen
Thing to bound thing: air hedges hill from hill, And mountain walls hedge air; land ends the sea, And sea in turn all lands; but for the All
Truly is nothing which outside may bound. That, too, the sum of things itself may not Have power to fix a measure of its own,
Great nature guards, she who compels the void
To bound all body, as body all the void,
Thus rendering by these alternates the whole
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An infinite; or else the one or other, Being unbounded by the other, spreads, Even by its single nature, ne'ertheless Immeasurably forth....
Nor sea, nor earth, nor shining vaults of sky, Nor breed of mortals, nor holy limbs of gods Could keep their place least portion of an hour: For, driven apart from out its meetings fit,
The stock of stuff, dissolved, would be borne
Along the illimitable inane afar,
Or rather, in fact, would ne'er have once combined
And given a birth to aught, since, scattered wide, It could not be united. For of truth
Neither by counsel did the primal germs
'Stablish themselves, as by keen act of mind, Each in its proper place; nor did they make, Forsooth, a compact how each germ should move; But since, being many and changed in many modes Along the All, they're driven abroad and vexed
By blow on blow, even from all time of old, They thus at last, after attempting all
The kinds of motion and conjoining, come Into those great arrangements out of which This sum of things established is create,
By which, moreover, through the mighty years, It is preserved, when once it has been thrown Into the proper motions, bringing to pass
That ever the streams refresh the greedy main With river-waves abounding, and that earth, Lapped in warm exhalations of the sun, Renews her broods, and that the lusty race
Of breathing creatures bears and blooms, and that
The gliding fires of ether are alive--
What still the primal germs nowise could do,
Unless from out the infinite of space
Could come supply of matter, whence in season
They're wont whatever losses to repair.
For as the nature of breathing creatures wastes, Losing its body, when deprived of food:
So all things have to be dissolved as soon As matter, diverted by what means soever From off its course, shall fail to be on hand.
Nor can the blows from outward still conserve, On every side, whatever sum of a world
