Proem (From Jupiter). From Jupiter let us take the Muses’ first beginnings: he is the one most on the lips of men, who fills the crossroads with his great power, the gatherings of men, the deep sea and the harbors of the sea. We all enjoy Jupiter and have need of him. We are his offspring; with a favorable omen his right hand marks the way for us and drives the people to their labors, that they may take thought for life: when the earth is fitter for the hoe or for the ox he warns, and at what season it is right to sow, or to sprinkle with water the bedded plants. He himself fixed the lights in the great firmament, each in its own order, and, providing for the whole year, gave us the stars to warn us at what hour each thing is fit to be done, that all might rise by a fixed law. So the same is first appeased, and the same is last. Great Father, great increase of mortals, elder progeny, and before all things, sweet Muses, all together hail to me, and while I sing the stars, if right and divine law permit, draw out a long song.

The Bears (Arcti). All the rest of the heavenly bodies glide with swift motion, borne along with the sky alike, night and day: but the axle stands unmoved and never shifts its place; it holds the balanced earth in even poise, and around it the sky wheels itself in a great whirl. The endmost point at either hinge is called the pole; of these two, the one is not seen, the other, toward the North, stretches up to the borders of Ocean above. This the Bears encircle, famed by the name of the Wain, which our people are accustomed to call the Seven Plough-oxen. The head of the one looks toward the flaming back of the other, and the wheeling sphere drives them in turn, bent forward upon their very shoulders. From Crete, if it is right to believe it, they came to the bright citadels of heaven, leaving their home. Jupiter willed this, whom, while he played as a child among the sweet-smelling grasses, they laid in the welcome cave of Dicte, hard by the Idaean mount, and nourished a whole year through, while the Dictaean Corybantes deceived Saturn. Of these two, the one is called by the Greeks Cynosura; the other is named Helice, which shows the Achaeans on the sea by what course the ship must be turned; but it is by Helice that the Phoenicians trust their guide in the deep at night. Yet the former gleams more, picked out with brighter stars, and wide and at once she is seen from the first of night. The latter is small; but for sailors there is use in it: for it wheels in a short course on its inner orbit, and shows the surest signs to the Sidonian mariners.

The Dragon (Draco). Between these, as a river with rushing current, the grim Dragon creeps below, and coiling himself above, shaping the bent folds out of his body, which the dogs of the Arctic gulf touch, themselves unwetted. But Helice is girdled by the mass of his outermost tail; where the bend of his coil is, the head of the Cynosurian Bear lies: yet she touches him with her feet, from his very crown down to the flank. Here again the Serpent is turned back upon his backward course. For him not one star alone shines, adorning his head; his temples are marked with a double blaze, and from his fierce eyes two burning lights flash, and his chin glows with a single radiant star; his head bent down and bowed back on its rounded neck, you would say he fixes his gaze upon the tail of the greater Bear. The right parts of the tail face the ends of the head. Here the head dips a little, and suddenly hides itself, where rising and setting are mingled in one quarter.

The Kneeler (Engonasin / Hercules). Hard by, like the weary shape of a man in grief, a figure turns: who he is, no one could tell you for certain, nor by what toil he is worn; yet they call him Engonasin, because he is borne resting on his knees. He reaches with both hands toward opposite quarters, and spreads above his shoulders with arms outstretched, and above the face of the Serpent, that breathes fire from its hollow nostrils, he plants the tread of his right foot.

The Crown (Corona). Here is set that Crown of surpassing brilliance. This, as witness to his love for Ariadne, Bacchus brought up into heaven, where the back of the Kneeler gapes apart. Beside his shoulders the garland rests. Near the head of the Serpent-Holder,

The Serpent-Holder (Ophiuchus). whom the Greeks name with the clear name of Ophiuchus, is the head of the Kneeler; and from the topmost crown of the Kneeler you will very easily know the gleaming stars of the other. Above his double shoulders there seems to be fixed a glittering star of such aspect, such brightness, that it gleams as the moon shines back when at full light. The strength is not equal in his twin hands, though for them there is no lack of splendor, nor is their bulk the smallest; yet their brightness is thin, with light scattered abroad. With the double pressure of his palms he holds the Serpent fast, and he himself stays bound by it with his whole body; for the Serpent girds the man’s middle beneath the breast. He, however, leaning heavily, plants his footsteps, and presses with his feet the eyes and the breast of the Scorpion. Pressed by his right hand, the Crown rises; but on the left side the Minoan garland touches the topmost of his cheeks.

The Claws (Chelae). Beneath his coil you will look for the Claws, with their vast body, which yet for their bulk throw out no great brightness.

The Bear-Warden (Arctophylax / Bo\"otes). Helice herself is followed by one of no unlike form to a herdsman, the Bear-Warden, commonly called Bo\"otes, because he drives before him the Bear, as if yoked by the pole. Bright is he, and beneath his breast there seems set fast a star glittering with rays, of clear name, Arcturus.

The Virgin (Virgo). Here, beneath the feet of Bo\"otes, comes forth, set apart, the Virgin, holding the bright ear of grain, her body shining. Whether her father is Astraeus, who is said to be likewise father of the constellations and the stars, or some other, may she be kindly: this is the tale told commonly. Astraea once dwelt on earth, leaving heaven behind, and did not disdain the gatherings of the men of old, nor scorned to visit the assemblies of women; free from death, she settled mingled among the mortal race, rejoicing in the name of Justice; and to the elders gathered, whether in the great forum, or in the broad open square, she diligently dictated the civil laws to the peoples. There was as yet no evil strife, no discord known, no savage sedition had maddened the fickle crowd, nor had the savage straits felt the press of daring keels; but, furrowing the earth with the ox-drawn ploughshare, they chose rather to live content with a frugal life, the Goddess sufficing the just with all things from her full horn. This she remained, while the golden race remained on the holy earth. But she took no great joy in the metal of silver; yet with their ways turned, her purpose too was turned before them, and rarely joined her godhead to the worse-grown race. Alone she would come down, descending from the harsh mountains toward nightfall, fawning on no one with soft words. But as soon as she came to the great cities of men, she avenged their wicked crimes with terrifying words: “No longer do I deem myself worthy to be shown for your seeing, O degenerate brood, now the second offspring of the first offspring, and yourselves to have grandchildren more degenerate, again and again. Then fierce wars hang over the race of men, and unspeakable slaughters impend, and its own punishment will follow the guilt as companion.” So she spoke, and left the peoples still holding their faces fixed upon her, and made for the mountains and the trackless places of the woods. This age she left to life, and left its offspring behind. Then indeed the iron race suddenly arose, and dared first to forge the deadly sword, and to taste with the hand the bullock, tamed and broken. Then the Goddess, loathing the mortal kind, flew up on high, and settled in the kingdom of Jupiter, in a part of the sky; allotted a shining place, where, on a clear night, the Virgin gleams conspicuous, neighbor to Bo\"otes. Above her, her double shoulders turn, and her wing

The Vintager (Praevindemiator / Protrygeter). to the right, called by the Greek name Protrygeter, a glittering star, of such aspect and such brightness as that which wheels beneath the tail of the vast Bear. That one indeed is blazing; but for this Virgin too there are more blazing stars, which you can find with little labor. For even before her feet, marked with a great brightness, a star shines; then the first comes up at her shoulders, the second at her loins. The third spreads its light beneath her tail, at the very knee. But the rest gleam scattered here and there, without a name.

The Twins (Gemini). But the Twins, the offspring, you will see beneath the head of the Bear: set under their middle is the Crab, and by their feet is held the great Lion, shaking the trembling flame from his body. Here the path of Phoebus unfolds his highest fires: then no ears of grain appear through the tilled fallows; and at the very onset of the sun through the blue of the sky, at this movement of the radiant one, the Etesian winds, gathered, sink down upon the waters of the deep, and blow with a long blast. Then let no oar please me, that a needy raft requires, but one large enough, and apt for the wind with a straight helm.

The Charioteer (Erichthonius / Auriga). If you desire to know the Charioteer and the Charioteer’s stars, and any report of the She-goat has reached your ears, and of the Kids together, whose two lights men often see amid the angry sea, where corpses are tossed: you will find the Charioteer, huge; in his whole body he is borne, hidden beneath the left side of the Twins. Facing his head, the fierce-eyed Helice keeps watch. The bright She-goat holds his left shoulder; she is thought to have once given her udders to suckle the still-small Thunderer; the ministers of Jupiter called her the Olenian goat. But she is endowed with a great and shining sign. Over against her the Kids cast a small fire to mortals, in the hands of the Charioteer; and, keeping to his tracks, the horned Bull strains, braced with his strong body, whom you could recognize by no difficult reasoning.

The Bull (Taurus). For stars adorn him, needing no sign brought from outside, which shape his living head on either part, scattering their famous lights over all his brow. These stars the Greeks have been wont to call the Hyades. But the right foot of the Charioteer and the left horn of the Bull flash with a single fire, and both are borne together. But the ox, the Charioteer going before, seeks the wide Ocean, though they rise together from the calm waves of the sea.

Cepheus. Moreover the most ancient house of Cepheus, son of Iasus, is known by its own sorrows, which Jupiter, the author of his line, suddenly set among the famous stars. For he himself turns at the very back of the Cynosurian Bear, the son of Iasus, stretching out his arms with spread palms; and from the outermost tail of the Bear, a measuring-line marks off each foot, as far as foot stands from foot.

Cassiepeia. But if you should move your eyes a little from the belt of Cepheus, turned toward the first ranks of the savage Dragon, here will be Cassiepeia, whom you could not see by a full moon, dim in the aspect of her stars. For her stars are not thick, nor do joined constellations compose from their varied fires one outstanding fire: but as the bolt, set against the leaf of a double door, shuts fast the gates made firm with a barrier, so these stars too, set apart, give her this shape, each by itself; and she herself is stretched out with arms spread, no otherwise than as one pitying the unjust lot of a daughter.

Andromeda. For close beside her, with shining body, turns Andromeda, fleeing in grief the sight of her mother: to search her out by night needs no anxious labor; so bright is her head, with so great a star do both shoulders blaze, and her topmost feet, and her flowing robes. She too stretches her arms into different quarters, and, as before, so now in the great firmament her chains do not relieve her palms, wearied by their hard weight.

The Horse (Equus / Pegasus). Beside her that Horse, shaking his mane with glittering brilliance, touches the top of her head with his belly, and a single star, joining, holds the two forms with a common light, desiring to weave from the stars an everlasting knot. But three stars paint the flank and shoulders of the steed, stars that stand apart from one another at equal space, of surpassing brightness, to which neither the high head is equal, nor the long neck; but the last of the blazing jaw yields nothing in brightness to these other four, itself shining out, the middle one among the gleaming stars. Not indeed is he here a four-footed creature, but down to mid-belly the noble courser shows his venerable face conspicuous. The story is that once, by the topmost ridges of Helicon, he gave us the Hippocrene draught. Then the green of the Aonian mountain was not yet wet with the fruitful water; as soon as the hoof of the noble colt struck the ground, at once a vast spring leapt forth, whence the first herdsmen called it the horse-spring. That spring, dripping from the rocks, waters your fields, land of Thespiae; but the Horse, for so great a gift, adorns the bright inner sanctuaries of the great sky.

The Ram (Aries). Next the Ram clings, with his twisted horns. He indeed, forever driven through his long orbits, runs no more sluggishly than the sign of the Cynosurian Bear, yet faint and dim, as though the moon should blunt the edge of his flame, he wheels close to the girdle of Andromeda. Near at hand, beneath her, you can recognize him by this support: for he treads the middle part of the sky, as before those Claws did, and the breast where Orion is discerned.

The Triangle (Deltoton). And close by you will see a small sign, beneath the bright breast of Andromeda, which the Greeks are wont to call Deltoton, because the figure shines with the like shape of their letter. For it each side stands out, drawn with a like length; but not the third part of its side, for that is smaller than they, yet it shines out famous, with stars set far and thick.

The Fishes (Pisces). A little lower is the Ram, and more inclined toward the south wind; and even more vehemently than he, the Fishes, of which one glides on a little ahead, and is touched more by the dread-sounding wings of the North Wind. And from their tails, like chains of bronze, turned long apart, they creep through the lights, and at last cling together, in common, on a single star, which the Ancients were wont to call the Heavenly Knot.

Perseus. If from the left shoulder of Andromeda you go on to search, you will be able to recognize the Fish set above her; sprung from her feet you will see Perseus, son of mighty Jupiter, feet that Perseus holds at his shoulders, his body planted firm, when the blasts strike from the topmost region of the North. He stretches his right hand toward the seat of Cassiepeia, and his feet apart, bound with their fitting sandals, as though, dust-covered, suddenly slipping up from the earth, he carries himself a traveler into heaven, beneath the great vault.

The Pleiades (Vergiliae). But beside the left knee, set on every side, you will see the small Pleiades with their thin light. These seven are commonly named, by ancient custom, as stars, yet in truth six are seen, small all around. But it is not fitting to think that one has perished; rather it is in vain, rashly, by the crowd, without any reasoning, that they are called seven, as the old poets settled it, who dignify them all with an everlasting name through the ages: Alcyone, and Merope, Celaeno, and Taygete, Electra, and Sterope, and with them most holy Maia. These shine slight, gliding with a small light: yet the name of the sign is great, and is called famous, because it both makes clear the beginnings of summer, and afterward, opening the risings of the winter season, warns mortals to commit the seed to the earth.

The Lyre (Lyra). Next the Lyre is seen, set lightly and curved; which Mercury, they say, once fashioned with his small hands in the cradle, and placed in a high seat; which, gliding down, settled toward the left knee of the Kneeler, and clung between the Kneeler’s bent knee and the head of the Bird.

The Swan (Cycnus). For there is the Bird, the winged one, that flies beneath the broad covering of the sky, and, gliding, cleaves the air with its twin wings. One part of it is dark, and bereft of light; the other burns with lights neither small nor bright, but throws a moderate light, shaking it from its body. Its right wing strains to strike the right palm of Cepheus; and now indeed the hoof of the strong Horse, hard by the wing of its winged body, has bowed down sharply.

The Horse, Capricorn and Aquarius (Equus). But that Horse himself, gliding, is held by both Fishes; his neck on the right is caressed by the Water-pourer. Later does the might of the Horse visit the settings of the earth than the cold Capricorn, breathing chill frost from his strong body, the great bristle-bearing Capricorn in his orbit; whom, when Titan has clothed in unbroken light, he bends and wheels his chariot in the wintry season. Beware to entrust yourself to the sea in this month: for the daily span will glide on no great length; the wintry night will not be rolled round in a swift course; the moist dawn at your laments will not show herself the sooner, herald of the bright sun. But the South Wind will beat the deep with mighty strength; then the riven body will be shaken with shivering cold. Yet the years now glide on through the whole season, and yield to none of the signs, and shun no blasts, nor fear the hoary waves with their threatening roar. But the sailors, like coots, and like the swimming diver, casting their anxious eyes over all the sea, seek in vain the shores that nowhere obey them, while a thin plank divides them from black Orcus.

The Archer (Sagittipotens / Sagittarius). And in the month above too, when ship and sea are roamed, when the Archer holds up the orb of the sun, think no much lighter perils threaten, and cautiously draw up your stern before the black darkness. For now close at hand, for a brief time, the light is present. Sailors will be able to know this sign as it comes: for, with the night near to falling, it will be allowed to see how the Scorpion, showing itself, rises on high, drawing behind, by the force of its body, the bent Bow. But the Scorpion goes not much before; yet it comes first from the waves. Now above you will see that the head of the lesser Bear is there, and turns more upright toward the topmost orbit. Then Orion now buries his whole body near the very end of night, and Cepheus is hidden deep as far as his loins, thrust down by the hand into the shadows.

The Arrow (Sagitta). Here, lacking an archer, one gleaming Arrow lies, beside which the bright-feathered Bird wheels round; and it is bent a little more toward the breezes of the North.

The Eagle (Aquila). But beside it the Eagle carries itself with burning body, caressing the fire-bearing air with quivering wings, not with too vast a body, yet a sign that, grievous to the sad, it shows to sailors, troubling the seas.

The Dolphin (Delphinus). Then, near the horns of the great Capricorn, the curved Dolphin lies, lit with no excessive brightness; except for the fourfold stars set in its front, which a single interval marks off into pairs: the rest of it, broad, creeps with a thin light. Those lights that gleam from its glittering mouth are set among the cold parts toward the North Wind, and between the space and the tracks of the glad sun. But the lower part of the Dolphin seems poured out between the path of the sun and the blasts of the wind, where the breath of the highest South Wind bursts forth with its strength.

Orion. Then Orion, straining with his slanting body, holds the lower parts of the fierce-eyed Bull. Whoever, looking up into the sky on a clear night, has not seen him spread wide, can hardly indeed hope to be able to know the other signs.

The Dog (Canis / Sirius). For beneath his feet shines with reddish light that blazing Dog, glittering with the light of its stars. A dark belly covers it beneath the breast; nor, breathing flame from its whole raging body, does it burst out with strong blasts of heat-bearing fires. All the burning is hurled at mortals, flashing from its mouth: the Greeks call it by the famous name of Sirius. When this Dog has lifted itself, together with the sun, to the heights of heaven, it does not allow the trees, in the cover of their leaves, to hold their fruits in vain, hung in suspense. For those whose roots the earth has clasped and gripped, this Dog, increasing their life, caresses with vital flame. But those whose roots cannot cleave the earth, it strips their boughs of leaves and their trunks of bark. We feel it too as it stretches toward the western shores. The other stars are faint for marking out its limbs.

The Hare (Lepus). Beside it, and beneath the feet of which we spoke before, of Orion, lies the light-footed Hare. It flees, dreading the dreadful blows of the sharp muzzle, trembling: for the Dog pursues its tracks with hostile course, driving it headlong, even now just rising, never resting its course with a body unwearied.

The Ship (Argo). But at the tail of the Dog, gliding, the Argo slips forward, bearing before it its stern, turned about, with light: not as other ships are wont to set their prows ahead in the deep, cleaving the Neptunian meadows with their beak; but turned backward it carries itself through the regions of heaven. Just as, when they begin to reach the safe harbors, the sailors turn the ship about with its great weight, and draw the reversed stern to the longed-for shore; so the ancient Argo, turned about, glides over the upper air; and from the prow as far as the lofty mast it is without light, but from the mast to the stern it is seen with a clear gleam. Then the rudder, shining with scattered light, touches the hindmost tracks of the bright Dog.

The Sea-Monster (Pistrix / Cetus). Next, far off and set in safety, the savage Sea-Monster still presses on, searching to seek Andromeda, and tracks her, set everywhere toward the strong breezes of the North, in the blue, bounded in the parts of the South.

The River (Eridanus). The Ram covers her, and the Fishes with their scaly body, as she touches with her body the banks of the bright river. For you will see Eridanus too, set in a part of the sky, that mournful river of great strength, which the grieving sisters of Phaethon often sprinkled with their tears, singing his death with sorrowing voice. This Serpent you can see beneath the left sole of Orion; and you will see the long Chains, which hold the Fishes, set in the part of their tails, mingled with the river, turning back toward the back of the Sea-Monster. Here they are bound by a single star, which the spine of the Sea-Monster casts from itself, shining with strong light. Next, many small ones with thin light are seen poured out and scattered between the Sea-Monster, and all the stars which the Hare, dreading the sharp bite, covers, and the rudder. For these neither name nor fixed form did the Ancients seem to have established. For those that nature has polished with bright stars, and painted, marking out their forms with varied light, these that warden of the stars marked with reasoning, and signed the heavenly signs with a true name. But these, that are poured out with little light, stars of like aspect and equal brightness, he could not make clear to us with a known figure.

The Southern Fish (Piscis Australis). Next, the one they are wont to call the Southern Fish rolls lower than Capricorn, toward the South, watching the Sea-Monster, clinging far from those other Fishes.

The Water-pourer (Aquarius). But near you will see, all bereft of a name, between the Sea-Monster and the Fish we called the South’s, stars scattered beneath the feet of the radiant Water-pourer. Beside them the Water-pourer pours from his right hand the dim stream, which shines with the slight whiteness of its stars. Yet of the many, two lights gleam far and wide: one will be seen beneath the great feet of the Water-pourer; the other, fallen from the cold flow of the spring, has clung beneath the thorn-bearing tail of the Sea-Monster; these thin stars are named the Waters. Here others flit, bright with a small light, and go beneath the foremost tracks of the feet of the great Bow-Holder, and, dim, give way without a name.

The Altar (Ara). Then, beside the gleaming point of the Scorpion, you will see the Altar, which the breath of the South Wind caresses with its blast, which for a short time passes over the thresholds above: for it is set far off, in the part opposite Arcturus. To Arcturus Jupiter gave great space above; to the Altar he set a small orbit in the lower part. Yet this night, visiting these regions in its eternal course, gave signs to sailors that all might know, pitying the dreaded fates of men on every side. For when you see, gleaming without dark clouds, the Altar set beneath the middle region of the sky, its upper part covered with dark mist, then, shunning it, flee the South Wind with its mighty strength: which, if foreseeing you have shunned it, setting all your tackle carefully in place, you will glide safe through the waves. But if a heavy wind falls with vehement blast, it will break the lofty masts with its set timber-strength, so that nothing can soften the savage storms, unless the Altar begins to drive the dark cloud away from the part of the North, and to scatter it with sudden breezes.

The Centaur (Centaurus). But if the Centaur shall have his shoulders in mid-sky, and himself be borne covered with a dark blue cloud, and clothe the Altar, dimmed, with a thin shade, then at the setting of the signs the force of the West Wind is to be feared. But that Centaur, set in a high seat, where the Scorpion brings itself, glowing and bright, beneath this, carrying forward his own manly part, gives way, hastening to set his horse-parts under the Claws. Here, stretching out his right hand, where the vast four-footed beast is held, which no one of the Greeks has given a sure name, he reaches, and, fierce, moves toward the bright Altar.

The Water-Snake (Hydra). Here the Hydra raises itself from the lower parts, with a headlong glide, a serpent with bent body. Twisting its head and eyes toward the back of the Scorpion, and, with arching coil, passing beneath the lower parts of the Lion, it touches the Centaur, slippery, with its smooth tail: and in the middle of its coil the gleaming Cup shines back: at its end the Crow, glittering with feathered body, pecks with its beak. And here, beneath the Twins themselves, before the Dog, is the one borne by the Greek name of Procyon. These are the signs which, watching in the nighttime, and wishing to know the eternal motion of the firmament, you will see ranging the sky in their lawful course. For those five stars that are wont to glide through the orbit of the twelve Signs cannot be marked by the like reasoning; because the tracks they make in their course are not always borne, worn smooth, over the same space. So they choose rather to wander, straying through the clouds of heaven, and to measure their orbits with a varied motion. These make the great years of long time, when they return to the same sign beneath the covering of the sky: whose whole courses I now cannot unfold. But these, that ever roll in a fixed orbit, fixed, I will set forth, together with the great circles, to the nations.

The Celestial Circles. Four circles, ranging the firmament with eternal light, are borne, star-bearing, carrying their signs, embracing the earth, propped beneath the covering of the sky: from these you will learn the flitting lights of the years, which it will be possible to discern, picked out with thick signs. Then the great circles, broad with great light, bound to one another and fitted with heavenly knots, two you will see set at equal space from two. For if, learning the sky in the nighttime, when no clouding mist has wiped away the stars, and the Moon has not overcome the stars with full light, you have seen a great white Circle creeping bright: this is marked, the Milky one, gleaming with excessive whiteness. This does not weave out a continuous orbit. Four others are borne, gleaming with a like mass: but it is said to surpass the upper two by much in span, and to range wide through the hollows of the sky. Of these, the one, touching the breezes of the North, turns, seeking the bright face of the Twins; then, holding within itself the burning knee, it carries both shoulders of the Charioteer. This Perseus touches with his left calf and left shoulder. But it is held on the right side of Andromeda; her hand looks toward the North, her elbow toward the South. The Horse sets his two feet upon it; and at the same time the Bird sets the head, and, its body bent, the back. The Serpent-Holder strives against it with his shoulders. She, receding, follows the South, the Virgin, shunning it with her body. But the whole span the great Lion will clothe, and the Crab, shining with clear light, in which, standing still, the summer Sun turns back its course, marking off its passages with its body in the middle. Here it is all parted in the middle: that other one, beneath the hollow coverings of the shells, has light within and without: but the dread force of the savage Lion possesses the orbit with its strong breast and belly. If you can know this circle divided into eight parts, you will find that, in the upper orbit, five turn round at equal space, and three parts are left, which the nether force frequents in the nighttime. The one is joined to the Crab from the breezes of Boreas; the other strains, over against it, from the nether South Winds. Sharing out the middle, this one cuts beneath Capricorn, and the feet of the Water-pourer pouring his cold stream, and the dark blue tail of the savage Sea-Monster, and that gleaming Hare; then the feet of the Dog, and likewise holds the broad Argive Ship with its bright light; and the back of the Centaur, and carries the point of the Scorpion; then it possesses the Archer’s planted Bow. This circle, giving way from the clear-sounding breezes of the North toward the South, the burning wheel of the Sun touches last; thence, bent in the wintry season, it recovers its seats on high. To this circle five parts are assigned of the night, three are said to belong to the upper light. Between these two it seems to keep the middle part, as great as the gleaming Milky circle will be: in which, in the autumn, and again in the spring light, the sun makes the span of day equal with the time of night. Holding this, the Ram glows faintly with his whole body, and the huge Bull strains with bent knee. Orion is borne, touching it with his bright breast. The Hydra holds it with its winding; the Cup and the Crow cling to it, and a few stars of the Claws: likewise the knees of the Serpent-Holder, and the Bird, the winged messenger of highest Jupiter, presses on; beside it the Horse touches it with his head and the light of his neck. These the axle sustains, parted at equal space, passing through their midst from the topmost crown of the sky. But that fourth Circle, with its clear light, holds the outermost orbits at its outermost parts, and is at once cut from the middle, at its middle part, and slanting it is borne among these, gleaming with light: so that no one, to whom most learned Pallas with her own holy hand has given the skilled art in the principles of craft, could turn the twisted orbits so cunningly as they are bent in heaven by divine power, girding the earth, adorning the firmament with light, holding the stars propped with a crosswise summit. These four are all wheeled with the same motion. But that one alone, twined slantwise among the three circles, keeps its course as far above the lands as Capricorn is divided in space from the Crab; and beneath the lands the space must needs be equal. And as great as the rays we cast from our own light, by which we touch this arched orbit of heaven, six such parts will be able to come beneath it, holding, at equal space, two heavenly signs apiece. This the Greeks call the Zodiac; and our Latins will name it, by a true name, the sign-bearing orbit: for, wheeling, it carries the twelve burning signs. The heat-bearing Crab is one, spreading its fervent stars. Beneath it the grim force of the Lion gives way, gleaming, whom the Virgin follows, glowing with reddish body, then the Claws, thrown forward with clear light; and the great force of the Scorpion follows, shining. Then the Archer holds the bent bow in his right hand. After him Capricorn presses on to go with his face. Then the watery Water-pourer gleams for the orbit in his place. Next the scale-bearing Fishes serpentine in play; whose companion is the Ram, gliding with dim light, and the Bull, his knee bent, his body thrown forward, and the Twins, casting bright fire with their lights. These the Sun wheels round, ranging with eternal light, completing the yearly seasons in its turning course. As much of the orbit as is driven, finished, beneath the lands, just so much of it stands open above to mortals. Six signs ever give way, gliding in every night, and as many gleaming signs the sky sees again. This span, passing through, the night completes with its blind shadows, which, left above the lands at the first of night, is propped from the sign-bearing orbit and from the order of the signs.

The Risings and Settings of the Signs. But if you wish to know the sure courses of the Sun, you will watch the risings of the Signs in the nighttime; for Titan rising always draws up one sign. But if a high mountain, blocking the signs, shall obstruct, or clouds with blind mist shall take away the light, taking the sure marks yourself from the covering of the sky, you can know all the risings and settings. Which rise together, you will see; which at the same time plunge to their setting in the nighttime, you will know. For as soon as the Crab has lifted its whole self in the upper light, straightway the Crown gives way, gliding down; and visits the regions below, as far as the tail of the Fish. The Crown, picked out with stars, keeps one half already above, and from the other part is driven back: which yet the Fish follows, not wholly drawn to the shadows, but, covered in its upper body, gives way: and the Serpent-Holder hides, from his knees up to his shoulders, the great curved Serpent, from his strong neck. Now indeed the Bear-Warden is cut at no equal part: for shorter he is seen from the bright part of the sky; larger, driven down, he possesses the nether shadows. Four signs he is wont, in setting, to draw down with him from the sign-bearing orbit; then later he retires, when he has sated himself with the upper light, sinking with bright body after the middle of the night. These dim signs the earth, turning, hides. But from the other part, with clear lights, wanders Orion, gleaming at his shoulders and broad breast, and holding in his right hand the Sword, not void of light. But when the force of the Lion is opened from the lands, all that the Crab brought up at its bright rising give way, darkened; likewise the great force of the Eagle is driven off, and the Kneeler, settling with bent body, now almost driven from the upper light, gives way: but he leaves his left knee, and his bright sole, on high. Then over against him rises the bright head of the Hydra, and the Hare, and Procyon, who, blazing, brings himself before the Dog; then the first tracks of the Dog are seen. Driving not a few signs from the sky, suddenly the Virgin rises, glowing with bright light. The Cyllenian Lyre gives way bright, the Dolphin is plunged beneath the wave, likewise the Arrow, driven down, is covered, and the Bird recedes to the tip of its tail and the front of its wings, and the great River likewise glides down. Here the Horse fades from his head and long neck. Further off now rises the Serpent with bright body; and the Hydra shines for mortals as far as the Cup. Then the Dog shows its hinder feet, and afterward itself draws the stern with bright light. The Ship follows, gliding through the lights of the sky; it shows its middle mast with rayed beam; and now at last the Virgin has come forth with her whole body. But when the Claws come forward with dim body, Bo\"otes rises likewise with ample light, on whose facing body Arcturus is fixed; and now the whole Argo, gleaming above, glides forward, and the Hydra, because it is held spread wide in the sky, is not yet wholly open; for the shadow covers its tail. But the Serpent-Holder shines again with renewed light. Now the right knee, and the calf adorned with light, that one raises, who, lacking a known name, the Kneeler, who ever touches the borders of the Arcadian Lyre; whom we have very often seen in one night quenched and risen, so that, passing through, he doubled his small orbit. He raises his knee and calf on high with the Claws: but he himself, headlong, is held in the dark night, while the Scorpion and the Archer visit the lights of heaven. For the Scorpion will spread its middle along with itself; but the Bow, rising, will try to lift its whole self into the sky. He, lifted with three signs, shines with his whole body: but the Crown rises from its middle part, and the tail of the Centaur gleams with farthest brightness. Here now the whole Horse hides itself in the blind shadows, past which the Bird flies, gleaming with reddish plumage. The bright head of Andromeda sets, and the savage Sea-Monster glides down, seeking its horrible feasts, baleful. Against it Cepheus ceases not to stretch his palms: she sinks and hides herself, blue, down to the spine. But Cepheus bends back his head and shoulders and palms. But when the vehement force of the Scorpion has risen, spread wide and flying, it slips down into the lands; and Orion, struck with fear, is hidden along with it. By your leave, Virgin, may I unfold the cause of this fear: come to me, I pray, appeased, Diana. This is the tale of men, this report wanders through the lands; that once Orion is said to have laid violent hands on Diana, wandering, deranged, on the high hills, which Chios holds, fixed in the Aegean gulf, Chios, whose arms the green vine clothes with its covering. He, frenzied, with maddened heart, was slaying wild beasts, eager to adorn the gleaming feasts of Oenopion. But suddenly the island, struck by the feet of Diana, split apart, and, tearing up the scattered rocks, shook them, and lit the blind hollows with light: from which there came forth, with vast body, before him, the hostile Scorpion, bearing its mournful point. This struck the hunter, greedy in his hunt, with a mighty blow, fixing the deadly poison through the wounds into his veins: he, dying, strewed the earth with his heavy body. Therefore, when the Scorpion lifts itself with its great lights, Orion, fleeing, commits his body to the lands. Then indeed Andromeda flees, and the Neptunian Sea-Monster lies wholly hidden; Cepheus gives way, turned about in body, touching the farthest lands with the middle of his body. He can plunge his head and upper parts; but the nether shadow will never clothe his loins: for the Bears, ranging with their light, hold back his calves. She too glides at the same time, tearful, seeking her daughter, Cassiepeia; nor is she driven from the sky with grace, but is borne touching, with crown turned downward, first the lands, then with her shoulders, her seat overturned, she is carried. This punishment the kindly Nereids lay upon her, with whom, they say, she dared to contend in beauty. She sets, bowed down: but the other part of the Crown has risen, and now the whole Hydra is spread out with its tail. But the Centaur tears his head, and his whole self, from the dark shadows, leaving small tracks of his forefeet covered: as soon as he spreads his lights, he himself holds the wild beast in his right hand. But the rest await the rising of the great Bow. Then forward glides the Serpent-Holder, with head and hands: at the same time the Serpent brings up its head, and the topmost light of its bent body. Here that Kneeler rises, turned about in body, ranging his belly, legs, shoulders, and likewise his breast, and casting his rays with his right hand in glad light. Then, when the Archer has begun to visit the upper lights, the head of the Kneeler emerges, and at the same time the bright Lyre lifts itself, and Cepheus comes forth in body. That blazing Dog gives way with its whole body. Orion is hidden, and the Hare too goes, hidden in shadow; the lower lights of the Charioteer fall in their gliding. Then Capricorn, setting, drives from the high summit the Charioteer, and the threatening She-goat, and the small Kids alike, and drives down the great Ship of the ancient name. Procyon is overwhelmed. With winged gliding emerge from the lands the birds. The bright Arrow comes forth. Leaving his right leg and foot, Perseus sets into the nether places; then, giving way, the Argo is left from its stern. But after the Water-pourer has visited the upper orbit, and the most holy seat of the Southern Altar rises; and the Horse lifts itself high with shoulder and forefeet. The night cannot darken the opposite tail of the Centaur, rolling it down to the nether parts, nor his head, and broad shoulders, and great breast; and of the Hydra, which is nearest his neck, it draws down the coil, and hides its reddening mouth. But the rest stand long with radiant light, nor do they give way from above, with the half-beast, in their faces, until the Fishes rise with their twinned body. And the Fish rises near to Capricorn from the sea, in another part awaiting the rising of the impending sign: so the shoulders of Andromeda, and her famous legs with weary palms, rise at the divided season of the signs. When first the Fishes shall rise from the level waves, it will be given you to see the right parts of Andromeda. But the Ram, leaving the nether places, shows her left to the lands. At about that time you will see the Altar keeping the western borders of the sea, and Perseus as far as his shoulders in the eastern part. It is doubtful whether the Ram, loitering, draws up the breast of Perseus, or the Bull: with the Bull he ranges the air. But I would not think these cease, when the Bull rises: for near them the stars of the Charioteer gleam, whom yet the Bull does not wholly drive into the bright airs of light, but he is completed among the Twins themselves, but the two Kids, and the She-goat with her left foot, rise with the Ox: then the Sea-Monster lifts its monstrous back, and its gleaming tail in the vault of the sky. Bo\"otes himself sets too, now in his first part: four signs scarcely bury him in the broad deep, and steadfast in the left of the western Bear he rolls up. Both feet, as far as the twin knee of the Serpent-Holder, giving way to the sky, and slipped beneath the vast waters, rising elsewhere, will be able to show the Twins. Now to no side does the Sea-Monster seem near, yet soon to be watched, when now the first ranks of the River will come into the midst, to be discerned by the sailors in the deep, who, awaiting it, await the great sign of Orion: namely, that the way of the ship, and the measure of night, may be opened, such signs as the Gods have given many to the race of men.

Prognostica (The Weather-Signs). 1. The keeper of the goat-born flock, from the vast gulf. (Priscian, 6) 0.5em 2. With the ships taken aboard, to seek the floating stern-ornaments. (Priscian, 7) 0.5em 3. Whom neither storm shall destroy, nor long age shall undo, quenching the bright glories of the sky. (Priscian, 10) 0.5em 4. As when the Moon, passing, blocks the orb of Hyperion, the rays are quenched, covered with blind darkness. (Priscian, 10) 0.5em 5. But also the Manger, which glows with a thin light. (Priscian, 16) 0.5em 6. And moreover it often foreshows winds to come, the sea swollen, when suddenly and deeply it heaves, and the hoary rocks of brine, foaming with snowy spray, strive to render their grievous voices to Neptune; or when a dense roar, risen from the high crown of a mountain, swells louder, often by the rebound of the crags. Likewise the gray coot, fleeing from the gulf of the sea, announces, with its cry, that dreadful storms are at hand, pouring no slight songs from its trembling throat. (Cicero, De Divinatione, I, 8) 0.5em 7. You too see the signs, nurslings of the sweet water, when, with clamor, you make ready to pour your empty voices, and rouse the springs and pools with absurd sound. Often too the green frog sings a most mournful song from its breast, and at dawn the little owl presses on with its voices, presses on with its voices, and casts ceaseless laments from its mouth, when first Aurora sends back the cold dews. And sometimes the dusky crow, running along the shores, plunged its head, and took the wave upon its neck. (Cicero, De Divinatione, I, 8, 9) 0.5em 8. And the soft-footed oxen, gazing at the lights of heaven, drew from the air with their nostrils the moisture-bearing sap. (Cicero, De Divinatione, I, 9) 0.5em 9. Now indeed the mastic, ever green and ever laden, wont to swell with a threefold yield, pouring forth its fruit three times, shows the three seasons of ploughing. (Cicero, De Divinatione, I, 9)