Each instant, some fresh wonder into view.
Instead, the mournful change! now, day by day,
The rule for the old Mother is decay.
Ill is the continual drain supplied,
As used particles rarefy away.
It is not as in the primeval age.
Nought mattered it to her that at this stage,
In the gay effervescence of her youth,
Blind forces beat on her; she mocked their rage.
Her garrison lacks food for its support.