E’en as the young stork lifteth up his wing
Through wish to fly, yet ventures not to quit
The nest, and drops it; so in me desire
Of questioning my guide arose, and fell,
Arriving even to the act, that marks
A man prepar’d for speech.  Him all our haste
Restrain’d not, but thus spake the sire belov’d: 
Fear not to speed the shaft, that on thy lip
Stands trembling for its flight.”  Encourag’d thus
I straight began:  “How there can leanness come,
Where is no want of nourishment to feed?”
     “If thou,” he answer’d, “hadst remember’d thee,
How Meleager with the wasting brand
Wasted alike, by equal fires consm’d,
This would not trouble thee:  and hadst thou thought,
How in the mirror your reflected form
With mimic motion vibrates, what now seems
Hard, had appear’d no harder than the pulp
Of summer fruit mature.  But that thy will
In certainty may find its full repose,
Lo Statius here! on him I call, and pray
That he would now be healer of thy wound.” 
     “If in thy presence I unfold to him
The secrets of heaven’s vengeance, let me plead
Thine own injunction, to exculpate me.” 
So Statius answer’d, and forthwith began: 
“Attend my words, O son, and in thy mind
Receive them:  so shall they be light to clear
The doubt thou offer’st.  Blood, concocted well,
Which by the thirsty veins is ne’er imbib’d,
And rests as food superfluous, to be ta’en
From the replenish’d table, in the heart
Derives effectual virtue, that informs
The several human limbs, as being that,
Which passes through the veins itself to make them. 
Yet more concocted it descends, where shame
Forbids to mention:  and from thence distils
In natural vessel on another’s blood. 
Then each unite together, one dispos’d
T’ endure, to act the other, through meet frame
Of its recipient mould:  that being reach’d,
It ’gins to work, coagulating first;
Then vivifies what its own substance caus’d
To bear.  With animation now indued,
The active virtue (differing from a plant
No further, than that this is on the way
And at its limit that) continues yet
To operate, that now it moves, and feels,
As sea sponge clinging to the rock:  and there
Assumes th’ organic powers its seed convey’d. 
’This is the period, son! at which the virtue,
That from the generating heart proceeds,
Is pliant and expansive; for each limb
Is in the heart by forgeful nature plann’d. 
How babe of animal becomes, remains
For thy consid’ring.  At this point, more wise,
Than thou hast err’d, making the soul disjoin’d
From passive intellect, because he saw
No organ for the latter’s use assign’d. 
     “Open thy bosom to the truth that comes. 
Know soon as in the embryo, to the brain,
Articulation is complete, then turns
The primal Mover with a smile of joy
On such great work of nature, and imbreathes