Save the wise ones who knew before,
That many stars a motion wider
Have in the heavens, some, however,
Run more straitly round the axle's end,
And move more widely when round its middle
They urge their race? One of these orbs
Is Saturn called; in some thirty winters
He girdles round this globe of earth.
Boötes also brightly shines,
Another star that to his station
In years as many moves round,
Even to the place from which he parted.
What mortal is there that marvels not
How that some stars sink in ocean,
Under the sea-waves, as men do suppose?
Some also deem that the sun does so;
But none the less false is this their fancy,
For neither at even nor in early morning
Is he nearer the ocean than at high noon.
Yet do men deem that he dives to ocean,
Into the sea, when he sinks to setting.
Who in the world wonders not
At the full moon, when in a moment
She is robbed of her beauty beneath the clouds,
With darkness covered? What mortal cannot
See with wonder the ways of all stars,
Why in bright weather they beam not forth
Before the sun, when such is their custom
In the middle of night before the moon,
When clear is heaven? How many a man,
