And most in autumn is shaken the house of heaven, The house so studded with the glittering stars, And the whole earth around--most too in spring When flowery times unfold themselves: for, lo, In the cold season is there lack of fire, And winds are scanty in the hot, and clouds Have not so dense a bulk. But when, indeed, The seasons of heaven are betwixt these twain, The divers causes of the thunderbolt Then all concur; for then both cold and heat Are mixed in the cross-seas of the year, So that a discord rises among things And air in vast tumultuosity Billows, infuriate with the fires and winds-- Of which the both are needed by the cloud For fabrication of the thunderbolt. For the first part of heat and last of cold Is the time of spring; wherefore must things unlike Do battle one with other, and, when mixed, Tumultuously rage. And when rolls round The latest heat mixed with the earliest chill-- The time which bears the name of autumn--then Likewise fierce cold-spells wrestle with fierce heats. On this account these seasons of the year Are nominated "cross-seas."--And no marvel If in those times the thunderbolts prevail And storms are roused turbulent in heaven, Since then both sides in dubious warfare rage Tumultuously, the one with flames, the other With winds and with waters mixed with winds. This, this it is, O Memmius, to see through The very nature of fire-fraught thunderbolt; O this it is to mark by what blind force It maketh each effect, and not, O not To unwind Etrurian scrolls oracular, Inquiring tokens of occult will of gods, 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, Or what the thunderstroke portends of ill From out high heaven. But if Jupiter And other gods shake those refulgent vaults With dread reverberations and hurl fire Whither it pleases each, why smite they not Mortals of reckless and revolting crimes, That such may pant from a transpierced breast Forth flames of the red levin--unto men A drastic lesson?--why is rather he-- O he self-conscious of no foul offence-- Involved in flames, though innocent, and clasped Up-caught in skiey whirlwind and in fire? Nay, why, then, aim they at eternal wastes, And spend themselves in vain?--perchance, even so To exercise their arms and strengthen shoulders? Why suffer they the Father's javelin To be so blunted on the earth? And why Doth he himself allow it, nor spare the same Even for his enemies? O why most oft Aims he at lofty places? Why behold we Marks of his lightnings most on mountain tops?