法拉，什么时候?呃古德温?最近我发现你在沉思，从流体静力学的圣人漏漏的记忆存储，或者当呻吟昨天不必要地被一些明亮的不稳定的光线分散，通过一个球体折射，?于是，那些常被压抑的急促的话语，在我的水龙头里飘动;还不能用语言表达的思想，现在却很乐意说出来。把药涂得漂漂亮亮的人，其实是把药藏起来了。所以，我要用偶然说出来的话，把事情说清楚。有些人，他们坚忍的心，以一个目标为中心，等待着，直到真理从他们黑暗的眼睛里突现进来。然后，那光线勉强被捕捉到，愉快地吸收着，他们看到思想的领域进入了科学的轨道。他们就这样等待，这样辛劳，最后才知道，就像好种子在肥沃的土壤里生根发芽。有些人，他们周围的灵魂，在全神贯注的直觉中，抓住翻滚的造物，完整的，没有分割的。对他们来说，黑暗的房间、透镜和穿孔是不可能的; 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.