Here you will find the Long Poem To F.W.F. of poet James Clerk Maxwell
Farrar, when o?er Goodwin?s page Late I found thee poring, From the hydrostatic Sage Leaky Memory storing, Or when groaning yesterday Needlessly distracted By some bright erratic ray, Through a sphere refracted,? Then the quick words, oft suppressed, In my fauces fluttered; Thoughts not yet in language drest Pleasing to be uttered. He that neatly gilds the pill Hides the drug but vainly, So, in chance-sown words, I will Speak the matter plainly. Men there are, whose patient minds, In one object centred, Wait, till through their darkened blinds Truth has burst and entered. Then, that ray so barely caught Joyfully absorbing, They behold the realms of Thought Into Science orbing. Thus they wait, and thus they toil, Thus they end in knowing, Like good seed in kindly soil Taking root and growing. Men there are whose ambient souls, In rapt Intuition, Seize Creation as it rolls, Whole, without partition. Not for them the darkened room, Lens, and perforation; Enemies are they to gloom, Foes to Insulation. Theirs the light of perfect Day, Theirs the sense of Freedom; Dungeons, and the tortured ray, Serve for those that need ?em. Song to them of right belongs, Eloquently flowing; Sweeping down time-honoured wrongs, Surging, burning, glowing. Songs in which all hearts rejoice, Songs of ancient story; Songs that fill a People?s voice Marching on to glory. Thus they live, and thus they love, Thus they soar in singing; Like glad larks in heaven above, Dazzling courses winging.? Here, I prithee, turn thy mind To a little fable Of the fledged and rooted kind, Bird and vegetable. Pensive in his lowly nest Once a Lark was lying; Often did he heave his breast Querulously sighing. For he saw with envious eyes, Pampered vegetation? Cabbages of goodly size, Swoll?n with emulation. Till their self-infolded green Tight crammed, wide distended, Seemed in sphered pomp to mean All that it pretended. Long he sought to win their place In the Gardener's favour; Well he caught the silent grace Of a plant?s behaviour. All was useless, he confest, Earth for him unsuited; Terror seized upon him, lest He should there be rooted. "Cabbages are cabbages, Larks are larks," he muttered; Then, light springing in the breeze, Through the sky he fluttered. Farrar, mark my fable well, Fling away Ambition; By that sin the angels fell Into black perdition. Cut the Calculus, and stop Paths that lead to error; Think?below the Junior Op., Gapes the Gulph's grim terror. Then your Mathematic wings, Plucked from off your shoulder, Will express what Horace sings Of that rash youth, bolder Than his waxen wings allowed, Or his cautious father. Fall not thou from out thy cloud Algebraic, rather Try the Poll, for none but fools,-? Fools, I mean, at College, Reach the earth between two stools, Triposes of Knowledge. Better in poetic rage Sing, through heaven soaring, Than disfigure Goodwin?s page By incessant poring.