Philosophical Enigma

Communicated by Mrs Flaxman

The Old Philosophical Enigma Unriddled

It is a stone, and yet a stone ’tis not, In which the all of art consists, I wot, In nature’s hand though never perfect seen Yet perfect is in potency, I ween, Search not on earth, for there you’ll find it not In Vulcan’s caves ’tis only found, I wot, Of the whole art it is the golden mean, Seek then what we a vapour call; I ween, For a live animal, mistake it not And yet, a red devouring lion ’tis, I wot, In form of flying mercury, oft tis seen And yet, no vulgar mercury ’tis I ween; For pure and clear; yet ponderous it is not, Unlike the common argent vive, I wot, Some wits in sport y’clept it lion green Just so, as like a blue-dog ’tis, I ween, For herb, or brute, or bird, be sure ’tis not, A mineral, cum grano salis, ’tis, I wot, By heat, by light, and air, condens’d ’tis seen Transparent, clear, and aqueous I ween, And yet tho’ moist, ’tis dry; tho’ cold, ’tis hot; An elemental perfect com-pound ’tis, I wot By fire extract its sulphur, which when seen You’re master both of nature & of art, I ween Tho’ quaint expressions, in these lines are seen Reject them not, for truth’s within, I ween For it thou dost, thou are a very sot, And a foolsopher will remain I wot.

An Old Rosicrusian