14
THE PYTHAGOREAN PHILOSOPHY.
But when the mother's throes begin to come,
The creature, pent within the narrow room,
Breaks his blind prison, pushing to repair
His stifled breath, and draw the hving air;
Cast on the margin of the world he lies,
A helpless babe, but he by instinct cries.
He next essays to walk, but downward prest,
On four feet, imitates his brother beast:
By slow degrees he gathers from the ground
His legs, and to the rolling chair is bound;
Then walks alone; a horseman now become,
He rides a stick, and travels round the room.
In time he vaunts among his youthful peers,
Strong-bon'd, and strung with nerves, in pride of years.
He runs with mettle his first merry stage,
Maintains the next, abated of his rage.
But manages his strength, and spares his age.
Heavy the third, and stiff he sinks apace,
And, tho' 'tis down-hill all, but creeps along the race.
Now, sapless, on the verge of death he stands.
Contemplating his former feet and hands.
Thy teeth, devouring Time, thine, envious Age,
On things below still exercise your rage;
With venom'd grinders you corrupt your meat.
And then, at lingering meals, the morsels eat.
Nor those, which element we call, abide.
Nor to this figure, nor to that are tied:
For this eternal world is said of old,
But four prolific principles to hold,
Four diff'rent bodies; two to heav'n ascend.
And other two down to the centre tend:
Fire first, with wings expanded, mounts on high,
Pure, void of weight, and dwells in upper sky;
Then air, because unclogg'd in empty space,
Flies after fire, and claims the second place;
But weighty water, as her nature guides.
Lies on the lap of earth; and mother earth subsides.
All things are mix'd of these, which all contain,
And into these are all resolv'd again:
Thus are their figures never at a stand,
But chang'd by Nature's innovating hand;
