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