Lucretius
One thing I fear now is that you may think
There's something impious in philosophy
And that you are entering on a path of sin.
Not so. More often has religion itself
Given birth to deeds both impious and criminal:
As once at Aulis the leaders of the Greeks,
Lords of the host, patterns of chivalry,
The altar of the virgin goddess stained
Most foully with the blood of Iphianassa.
The braiding band around her maiden locks
Dropped down in equal length on either cheek;
She saw her father by the altar stand
In sorrow, the priests beside him hiding knives,
And all the people weeping when they saw her;
Then dumb with fear she sank down on her knees.
Nor could it help, poor girl, at such a time
That she first gave the king the name of father.
For men's hands lifted her and led her on
Pale, trembling, to the altar, not indeed
That in fulfillment of the ancient rite
The brilliant wedding hymns should be her escort,
But that a stainless victim foully stained,
At the very age of wedlock, sorrowing,
She should be slaughtered by a father's blade,
So that a fleet might gain a favoring wind.
So great the power religion had for evil.
You yourself, overcome at times by words
Of terror from the priests, will seek to abandon us.
How many dreams indeed they even now
Invent, to upset the principles of life
And all your happiness confound with fear.
And rightly so. For if men could but see
A sure end to their woes, somehow they'ld find the strength
To defy the priests and all their dark religion.
But as it is, men have no way, no power
To stand against them, since they needs must fear
In death a never-ending punishment.
They do not know the nature of the soul,
Whether it is born, or on the contrary
Makes its way into us at birth, and whether
It perishes with us, when death dissolves it,
Or goes to Hades' glooms and desolate chasms,
Or into other creatures finds its way
By power divine.
One thing I fear now is that you may think
There's something impious in philosophy
And that you are entering on a path of sin.
Not so. More often has religion itself
Given birth to deeds both impious and criminal:
As once at Aulis the leaders of the Greeks,
Lords of the host, patterns of chivalry,
The altar of the virgin goddess stained
Most foully with the blood of Iphianassa.
The braiding band around her maiden locks
Dropped down in equal length on either cheek;
She saw her father by the altar stand
In sorrow, the priests beside him hiding knives,
And all the people weeping when they saw her;
Then dumb with fear she sank down on her knees.
Nor could it help, poor girl, at such a time
That she first gave the king the name of father.
For men's hands lifted her and led her on
Pale, trembling, to the altar, not indeed
That in fulfillment of the ancient rite
The brilliant wedding hymns should be her escort,
But that a stainless victim foully stained,
At the very age of wedlock, sorrowing,
She should be slaughtered by a father's blade,
So that a fleet might gain a favoring wind.
So great the power religion had for evil.
You yourself, overcome at times by words
Of terror from the priests, will seek to abandon us.
How many dreams indeed they even now
Invent, to upset the principles of life
And all your happiness confound with fear.
And rightly so. For if men could but see
A sure end to their woes, somehow they'ld find the strength
To defy the priests and all their dark religion.
But as it is, men have no way, no power
To stand against them, since they needs must fear
In death a never-ending punishment.
They do not know the nature of the soul,
Whether it is born, or on the contrary
Makes its way into us at birth, and whether
It perishes with us, when death dissolves it,
Or goes to Hades' glooms and desolate chasms,
Or into other creatures finds its way
By power divine.
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