Nature of Things | Page 7

and boughs; And
voices pass the solid walls and fly Reverberant through shut doorways
of a house; And stiffening frost seeps inward to our bones. Which but
for voids for bodies to go through 'Tis clear could happen in nowise at
all. Again, why see we among objects some Of heavier weight, but of
no bulkier size? Indeed, if in a ball of wool there be As much of body
as in lump of lead, The two should weigh alike, since body tends To
load things downward, while the void abides, By contrary nature, the
imponderable. Therefore, an object just as large but lighter Declares
infallibly its more of void; Even as the heavier more of matter shows,
And how much less of vacant room inside. That which we're seeking
with sagacious quest Exists, infallibly, commixed with things- The void,
the invisible inane. Right here I am compelled a question to expound,
Forestalling something certain folk suppose, Lest it avail to lead thee
off from truth: Waters (they say) before the shining breed Of the swift
scaly creatures somehow give, And straightway open sudden liquid
paths, Because the fishes leave behind them room To which at once the
yielding billows stream. Thus things among themselves can yet be
moved, And change their place, however full the Sum- Received
opinion, wholly false forsooth. For where can scaly creatures forward
dart, Save where the waters give them room? Again, Where can the
billows yield a way, so long As ever the fish are powerless to go? Thus
either all bodies of motion are deprived, Or things contain admixture of
a void Where each thing gets its start in moving on. Lastly, where after
impact two broad bodies Suddenly spring apart, the air must crowd The
whole new void between those bodies formed; But air, however it

stream with hastening gusts, Can yet not fill the gap at once- for first It
makes for one place, ere diffused through all. And then, if haply any
think this comes, When bodies spring apart, because the air Somehow
condenses, wander they from truth: For then a void is formed, where
none before; And, too, a void is filled which was before. Nor can air be
condensed in such a wise; Nor, granting it could, without a void, I hold,
It still could not contract upon itself And draw its parts together into
one. Wherefore, despite demur and counter-speech, Confess thou must
there is a void in things. And still I might by many an argument Here
scrape together credence for my words. But for the keen eye these mere
footprints serve, Whereby thou mayest know the rest thyself. As dogs
full oft with noses on the ground, Find out the silent lairs, though hid in
brush, Of beasts, the mountain-rangers, when but once They scent the
certain footsteps of the way, Thus thou thyself in themes like these
alone Can hunt from thought to thought, and keenly wind Along even
onward to the secret places And drag out truth. But, if thou loiter loth
Or veer, however little, from the point, This I can promise, Memmius,
for a fact: Such copious drafts my singing tongue shall pour From the
large well-springs of my plenished breast That much I dread slow age
will steal and coil Along our members, and unloose the gates Of life
within us, ere for thee my verse Hath put within thine ears the stores of
proofs At hand for one soever question broached.
NOTHING EXISTS per se EXCEPT ATOMS AND THE VOID
But, now again to weave the tale begun, All nature, then, as
self-sustained, consists Of twain of things: of bodies and of void In
which they're set, and where they're moved around. For common
instinct of our race declares That body of itself exists: unless This
primal faith, deep-founded, fail us not, Naught will there be whereunto
to appeal On things occult when seeking aught to prove By reasonings
of mind. Again, without That place and room, which we do call the
inane, Nowhere could bodies then be set, nor go Hither or thither at all-
as shown before. Besides, there's naught of which thou canst declare It
lives disjoined from body, shut from void- A kind of third in nature.
For whatever Exists must be a somewhat; and the same, If tangible,
however fight and slight, Will yet increase the count of body's sum,
With its own augmentation big or small; But, if intangible and
powerless ever To keep a thing from passing through itself On any side,

'twill be naught else but that Which we do call the empty, the inane.
Again, whate'er exists, as of itself, Must either act or suffer action on it,
Or else be that wherein things move and be: Naught, saving body, acts,
is