LITMIR.BIZ

                                      And, again,

           What seems to us the hardened and condensed

           Must be of atoms among themselves more hooked,

           Be held compacted deep within, as 'twere

           By branch-like atoms—of which sort the chief

           Are diamond stones, despisers of all blows,

           And stalwart flint and strength of solid iron,

           And brazen bars, which, budging hard in locks,

           Do grate and scream. But what are liquid, formed

           Of fluid body, they indeed must be

           Of elements more smooth and round—because

           Their globules severally will not cohere:

           To suck the poppy-seeds from palm of hand

           Is quite as easy as drinking water down,

           And they, once struck, roll like unto the same.

           But that thou seest among the things that flow

           Some bitter, as the brine of ocean is,

           Is not the least a marvel…

           For since 'tis fluid, smooth its atoms are

           And round, with painful rough ones mixed therein;

           Yet need not these be held together hooked:

           In fact, though rough, they're globular besides,

           Able at once to roll, and rasp the sense.

           And that the more thou mayst believe me here,

           That with smooth elements are mixed the rough

           (Whence Neptune's salt astringent body comes),

           There is a means to separate the twain,

           And thereupon dividedly to see

           How the sweet water, after filtering through

           So often underground, flows freshened forth

           Into some hollow; for it leaves above

           The primal germs of nauseating brine,

           Since cling the rough more readily in earth.

           Lastly, whatso thou markest to disperse

           Upon the instant—smoke, and cloud, and flame—

           Must not (even though not all of smooth and round)

           Be yet co-linked with atoms intertwined,

           That thus they can, without together cleaving,

           So pierce our body and so bore the rocks.

           Whatever we see…

           Given to senses, that thou must perceive

           They're not from linked but pointed elements.

           The which now having taught, I will go on

           To bind thereto a fact to this allied

           And drawing from this its proof: these primal germs

           Vary, yet only with finite tale of shapes.

           For were these shapes quite infinite, some seeds

           Would have a body of infinite increase.

           For in one seed, in one small frame of any,

           The shapes can't vary from one another much.

           Assume, we'll say, that of three minim parts

           Consist the primal bodies, or add a few:

           When, now, by placing all these parts of one

           At top and bottom, changing lefts and rights,

           Thou hast with every kind of shift found out

           What the aspect of shape of its whole body

           Each new arrangement gives, for what remains,

           If thou percase wouldst vary its old shapes,

           New parts must then be added; follows next,

           If thou percase wouldst vary still its shapes,

           That by like logic each arrangement still

           Requires its increment of other parts.

           Ergo, an augmentation of its frame

           Follows upon each novelty of forms.

           Wherefore, it cannot be thou'lt undertake

           That seeds have infinite differences in form,

           Lest thus thou forcest some indeed to be

           Of an immeasurable immensity—

           Which I have taught above cannot be proved.

           And now for thee barbaric robes, and gleam

           Of Meliboean purple, touched with dye

           Of the Thessalian shell…

           The peacock's golden generations, stained

           With spotted gaieties, would lie o'erthrown

           By some new colour of new things more bright;

           The odour of myrrh and savours of honey despised;

           The swan's old lyric, and Apollo's hymns,

           Once modulated on the many chords,

           Would likewise sink o'ermastered and be mute:

           For, lo, a somewhat, finer than the rest,

           Would be arising evermore. So, too,

           Into some baser part might all retire,

           Even as we said to better might they come:

           For, lo, a somewhat, loathlier than the rest

           To nostrils, ears, and eyes, and taste of tongue,

           Would then, by reasoning reversed, be there.

           Since 'tis not so, but unto things are given

           Their fixed limitations which do bound

           Their sum on either side, 'tmust be confessed

           That matter, too, by finite tale of shapes

           Does differ. Again, from earth's midsummer heats

           Unto the icy hoar-frosts of the year

           The forward path is fixed, and by like law

           O'ertravelled backwards at the dawn of spring.

           For each degree of hot, and each of cold,

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