Translated by A. Z. Foreman - On the Solar Apocalypse (Georgics I. 461-514) lyrics

What the late dusk brings hither, whence the weather Hurls the fair clouds, how dank the southwind's schemes... These things the sun foreshadows. No man questions The sun. For it foretells the tide of times, Treasons unseen, star-chambered insurrection, And the first groundswell of uncivil war. When Caesar bled his last, the sun pitied Rome, Veiled his bright head in iron-red air till godless Times shook in terror of eternal nightfall. Over his wounds the sky had prophesied. Then in those days of wrath the earth and ocean, The foul-mawed beasts, the gyres of heinous birds Foreshadowed things. Mount Aetna quaked with magma And ruptured, overflowing the Cyclops' fields With molten stone and lava whirled through air. Wild over Germany the nordic thunder Of battle hammered the sky. The stiff Alps shifted. And all the multitudes heard a mighty voice Cry havoc through the silent groves, beheld Unearthedly pale visions in the dead Nightfall. Yea even the cattle cried in tongues. Unnatural times! Streams sat still, the landscape fissured, The temple bronze broke out in sweat and tears. That overlord of rivers Eridan*s Flooding whole forests in his waking, rushed Amok about the lowlands, making off With herds and pens. And ever in that time The viscera of beasts were thick with omens Evil and awful, wellsprings were spurting blood And every night the towns on high ground sounded And resounded with the wolf-pack's trailing wail. Never from such a fair sky had more firebolts Fallen, nor heaven blazed forth more baleful comets, As fury cumbered Italy. It was clear Brutus against the western coalition Would see the Roman legions once again Battle each other, wielding the same blades. For the Master Spirits saw fit that the soil Of Macedonia and the broad Balkans Be gorged a second time on blood of our own. Surely in ages hence, states yet unborn, The farmer turning earth in those same lands Will find the javelins eaten red with rust Or clank on empty helmets with his harrow, Gaping at the those same skulls in excavated Ma** graves: the ancient ruin of our nobles. O national home gods! Dear founding father Romulus! Mother Vesta! All of you Who guard the Tiber and the Palatine! Now that age's revolutions are complete Let not this young, august Octavian fail In peace-keeping. Long enough have we suffered The heavens' crimes against humanity. And long enough beneath your reign, O Caesar, Have jealous gods hara**ed us for your triumphs Reversing right and wrong. Such world-wide warfare, So many faces of wickedness. No honor Paid to the plow, but farmland left to rot, The farmers drafted for troops, their curved sickles Hammered to straight stern swords upon the forge. First Germany's wars...then wars in the Middle East! Neighboring peoples violating treaties For violence's own sake, with an unholy Militant god berserking over the globe. Just so a chariot bursting from the gates Veers out of control. The four horses run wild As though spur-struck by four invisible horsemen, Towing the driver powerless at the reins, The chariot heedless of the charioteer.