Classic Poem

[ Lucretius continues the praise of Epicurus ]

But who can number up his labours? who
His high discoveries sing? When but a few
Of the deep-studying race can stretch their minds
To image what He knew, as clear as They
The Truths self-evident with which He link'd
His farthest Views. For is there ought that's great,
That's wonderful, and hard, deterring Search?
That was his Prize! and worthy of his Toil
Unfailing, Who the lonely Monarch reign'd
Of Science thin-inhabited below.