 | Poetical sketches |  |
Onward the guiltless Mammons travel,
With eyes fix'd on the glittering gravel;
Nor e'er to distant cape by chance,
Or castle, turn th' admiring glance,
Or frowning cliff, or verdant plain,
Or white sail glistening on the main:
Vain Nature's contest with the maggot,
For what in Nature's like—an agate?
Nay, if they joy the day is fine—
'Tis but because the pebbles shine;
And earthquakes would but give them dread,
As swallowing up the sparkling bed.
Tides only ebb those beds t'uncover,
And flow, they think, to roll them over;
As mightiest rivers Brindley calls
Mere pap to feed his young canals.
With eyes fix'd on the glittering gravel;
Nor e'er to distant cape by chance,
Or castle, turn th' admiring glance,
Or frowning cliff, or verdant plain,
Or white sail glistening on the main:
Vain Nature's contest with the maggot,
For what in Nature's like—an agate?
Nay, if they joy the day is fine—
'Tis but because the pebbles shine;
95
As swallowing up the sparkling bed.
Tides only ebb those beds t'uncover,
And flow, they think, to roll them over;
As mightiest rivers Brindley calls
Mere pap to feed his young canals.
| Poetical sketches | |