612 JAMES CLERK MAXWELL. 



Till not a single Boman 



In Jove's house can be found. 

 For well he knows each evening 



When bells in steeples toll, 

 'Tis a sign that well-paid Augurs 



Are helping on his soul. 

 'Twas this that kept 'em quiet 



Through all my fabled reign, 

 Till quarrelsome young Tullus 



Brought battles back again. 

 Thus my cold-blooded doctrines 



The fear of Jove could quell, 

 Wonder not then to find me 



Alive here in a well." 



A VISION 



Of a Wrangler, of a University, of Pedantry, 

 and of Philosophy. 



10th November 1852. 

 DEEP St. Mary's bell had sounded, 

 And the twelve notes gently rounded 

 Endless chimneys that surrounded 

 My abode in Trinity. 

 (Letter G, Old Court, South Attics), 

 I shut up my mathematics, 

 That confounded hydrostatics 



Sink it in the deepest sea ! 



In the grate the flickering embers 

 Served to show how dull November's 

 Fogs had stamped my torpid members, 



Like a plucked and skinny goose. 

 And as I prepared for bed, I 

 Asked myself with voice unsteady, 

 If of all the stuff I read, I 



Ever made the slightest use. 



