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“ Toil on! toil on! ye ephemeral train,
Who build in the tossing and treacherous main ;
Toil on - for the wisdom of man ye mock,
With your sand-based structures and domes of rock;
Your columns the fathomless fountains lave,
And your arches spring up to the crested wave;
Ye 're a puny race, thus to boldly rear
A fabric so vast, in a realm so drear.

“ Ye bind the deep with your secret zone,
The ocean is sealed, and the surge a stone ;
Fresh wreaths from the coral pavement spring,
Like the terraced pride of Assyria's king;
The turf looks green where the breakers rolled ;
O'er the whirlpool ripens the rind of gold;
The sea-snatched isle is the home of men,
And the mountains exult where the wave hath been.

“But why do ye plant 'neath the billows dark
The wrecking reef for the gallant bark?
There are snares enough on the tented field,
'Mid the blossomed sweets that the valleys yield;
There are serpents to coil, ere the flowers are up;
There's a poison drop in man's purest cup;
There are foes that watch for his cradle breath,
And why need ye sow the floods with death?

“With moldering bones the deeps are white,
From the ice-clad pole to the tropics bright ;-
The mermaid hath twisted her fingers cold,
With the mesh of the sea-boy's curls of gold,
And the gods of ocean have frowned to see
The mariner's bed in their halls of glee ;-
Hath earth no graves, that ye

thus must spread The boundless sea for the thronging dead ?"



“ To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorned : • My author and disposer, what thou bid'st Unargued I obey: so God ordains ; God is thy law, thou mine : to know no more Is woman's happiest knowledge and her praise, With thee conversing I forget all time; All seasons and their change, all please alike. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charın of earliest birds; pleasant the sun, When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, Glistening with dew; fragrant the fertile earth After soft showers; and sweet the coming on Of grateful evening mild ; then silent night, With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon, And these the gems of heaven, her starry train : But neither breath of morn, when she ascends With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower, Glistening with dew; nor fragrance after showers, Nor grateful evening mild ; nor silent night, With this her solemn bird ; nor walk by moon, Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet.'"

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