This page has been validated.
302
On Moderation in all Things.
Why does the reptile which entombed now lies,
Revived, from thence with a new body rise?
Why does it, crowned like flame, ascending spring,
And in the air expand its gorgeous wing?
Can even Dufay, whose head with plans is filled,
Dufay in vegetables deeply skilled,
Tell why the plant, which sensitive we name,
Shrinks from the touch of man its trembling frame?
Languid with sickness, on your bed reclined,
From Sylva's eloquence relief you find,
He makes the tortured patient cease to groan,
To him the happy art to please is known.
Can Sylva's self the economy explain
Which works digestion, and makes food sustain?
How the bile through so many channels flows,
How, by degrees, it's filtrated, and goes
To pour into my veins a purple tide,
By which both strength and spirits are supplied,
Which makes the pulse of life incessant beat,
And makes the brain intelligence's seat?
Lost in amaze, he lifts to heaven his eye
And bids you for the truth to God apply.
Return, Maupertuis, to these realms of light,
From realms where half the year day's hid in night;
You, who alone the praise of Newton share,
Who know the truth, the truth to man declare.
You who forego in search of knowledge ease,
Who traverse mountains, and who pass the seas,
Who could the mind and body's toil sustain,
Who could our planet's figure ascertain;
Revived, from thence with a new body rise?
Why does it, crowned like flame, ascending spring,
And in the air expand its gorgeous wing?
Can even Dufay, whose head with plans is filled,
Dufay in vegetables deeply skilled,
Tell why the plant, which sensitive we name,
Shrinks from the touch of man its trembling frame?
Languid with sickness, on your bed reclined,
From Sylva's eloquence relief you find,
He makes the tortured patient cease to groan,
To him the happy art to please is known.
Can Sylva's self the economy explain
Which works digestion, and makes food sustain?
How the bile through so many channels flows,
How, by degrees, it's filtrated, and goes
To pour into my veins a purple tide,
By which both strength and spirits are supplied,
Which makes the pulse of life incessant beat,
And makes the brain intelligence's seat?
Lost in amaze, he lifts to heaven his eye
And bids you for the truth to God apply.
Return, Maupertuis, to these realms of light,
From realms where half the year day's hid in night;
You, who alone the praise of Newton share,
Who know the truth, the truth to man declare.
You who forego in search of knowledge ease,
Who traverse mountains, and who pass the seas,
Who could the mind and body's toil sustain,
Who could our planet's figure ascertain;
