When Newton saw an apple fall, he found In that slight startle from his contemplation-- 'T is _said_ (for I'll not answer above ground For any sage's creed or calculation)-- A mode of proving that the Earth turned round In a most natural whirl, called "gravitation;" And this is the sole mortal who could grapple,[jt] Since Adam--with a fall--or with an apple.[ju][525] II. Man fell with apples, and with apples rose, If this be true; for we must deem the mode In which Sir Isaac Newton could disclose Through the then unpaved stars the turnpike road,[jv] A thing to counterbalance human woes:[526] For ever since immortal man hath glowed With all kinds of mechanics, and full soon Steam-engines will conduct him to the moon. III. And wherefore this exordium?--Why, just now, In taking up this paltry sheet of paper, My bosom underwent a glorious glow, And my internal spirit cut a caper: And though so much inferior, as I know, To those who, by the dint of glass and vapour, Discover stars, and sail in the wind's eye, I wish to do as much by Poesy. IV. In the wind's eye I have sailed, and sail; but for The stars, I own my telescope is dim; But at the least I have shunned the common shore, And leaving land far out of sight, would skim The Ocean of Eternity:[527] the roar Of breakers has not daunted my slight, trim, But _still_ sea-worthy skiff; and she may float Where ships have foundered, as doth many a boat. V. We left our hero, Juan, in the _bloom_ Of favouritism, but not yet in the _blush;--_ And far be it from my _Muses_ to presume (For I have more than one Muse at a push), To follow him beyond the drawing-room: It is enough that Fortune found him flush Of Youth, and Vigour, Beauty, and those things Which for an instant clip Enjoyment's wings. VI. But soon they grow again and leave their nest. "Oh!" saith the Psalmist, "that I had a dove's Pinions to flee away, and be at rest!" And who that recollects young years and loves,-- Though hoary now, and with a withering breast, And palsied Fancy, which no longer roves Beyond its dimmed eye's sphere,--but would much rather Sigh like his son, than cough like his grandfather? VII. But sighs subside, and tears (even widows') shrink, Like Arno[528] in the summer, to a shallow, So narrow as to shame their wintry brink, Which threatens inundations deep and yellow! Such difference doth a few months make. You'd think Grief a rich field which never would lie fallow; No more it doth--its ploughs but change their boys, Who furrow some new soil to sow for joys. VIII.