To The Committee Of The Cayley Portrait Fund
O wretched race of men, to space confined! What honour can ye pay to him, whose mind To that which lies beyond hath penetrated? The symbols he bath formed shall sound his praise, And lead him on through unimagined ways To conquests new, in worlds not yet created. First, ye Determinants! in ordered row And massive column ranged, before him go, To form a phalanx for his safe protection. Ye powers of the nth roots of — 1! Around his head in ceaseless cycles run, As unembodied spirits of direction. And you, ye undevelopable scrolls! Above the host wave your emblazoned rolls, Ruled for the record of his bright inventions. Ye Cubic surfaces! by threes and nines Draw round his camp your seven-and-twenty lines— The seal of Solomon in three dimensions. March on, symbolic host! with step sublime, Up to the flaming bounds of Space and Time! There pause, until by Dickenson depicted, In two dimensions, we the form may trace Of him whose soul, too large for vulgar space, In n dimensions flourished unrestricted.
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