Page:The dispensary - a poem in six canto's (sic) (IA b30356775).pdf/28

 A golden Globe plac'd high with artful Skill, Seems, to the distant Sight, a gilded Pill: This Pile was, by the Pious Patron's Aim, Rais'd for a Use as Noble as its Frame: Nor did the Learn'd Society decline The Propagation of that great Design; In all her Mazes, Nature's Face they view'd, And as she disappear'd, their Search pursu'd. Wrapt in the Shades of Night the Goddess lyes, Yet to the Learn'd unveils her dark Disguise, But shuns the gross Access of vulgar Eyes.

Now she unfolds the faint, and dawning Strife Of infant Atoms kindling into Life: How ductile Matter new Meanders takes, And slender Trains of twisting Fibres makes. And how the Viscous seeks a closer Tone, By just degrees to harden into Bone; While the more Loose flow from the vital Urn, And in full Tides of Purple Streams return; How lambent Flames from Life's bright Lamp arise, And dart in Emanations through the Eyes; How from each Sluice a gentle Torrent pours, To slake a feav'rish Heat with ambient Show'rs. Whence, their Mechanick Pow'rs, the Spirits claim, How great their Force, how delicate their Frame: How the same Nerves are fashion'd to sustain The greatest Pleasure and the greatest Pain. Why bileous Juice a Golden Light puts on, And Floods of Chyle in Silver Currents run. How the dim Speck of Entity began T'exert its primogenial Heat and stretch to Man.