 | Zinzendorff, and other poems |  |
105
THE PHOLAS.
[_]
It is a fact familiar to Conchologists, that the genus Pholas, possesses the property of phosphorescence. It has been asserted, that this may be restored, even when the animal is in a dried state, by the application of water; but is extinguished with the least quantity of brandy.
Frail thing! on ocean's pity thrown,
Protected by no parent's care,
Slow softener of the rugged stone,
To scoop a hermit-mansion there,
Say,—wert thou born 'mid coral caves
Where pearly gems their lustre shed?
Or where the pensile sea-weed waves
Like cypress o'er the unburied dead?
Protected by no parent's care,
Slow softener of the rugged stone,
To scoop a hermit-mansion there,
Say,—wert thou born 'mid coral caves
Where pearly gems their lustre shed?
Or where the pensile sea-weed waves
Like cypress o'er the unburied dead?
Or didst thou fold thine armour white
In terror at the tempest's roar?
Or calmly shed a brilliant light
Neath some o'ershadowing madrepore?
Ah! would that man were prompt to learn
The lesson thou art prone to teach,
Wise, from thy dark testaceous urn,
And eloquent, tho' void of speech.
In terror at the tempest's roar?
Or calmly shed a brilliant light
Neath some o'ershadowing madrepore?
Ah! would that man were prompt to learn
The lesson thou art prone to teach,
Wise, from thy dark testaceous urn,
And eloquent, tho' void of speech.
Thou warn'st him that the ethereal mind,
That spark of Heaven's enkindled ray,
By genial Temperance refin'd,
Still brightens toward the perfect day;
But if, debas'd by gross desire,
It plunges in the poisonous bowl,
That flame must sicken and expire,
And leave the clay without a soul.
That spark of Heaven's enkindled ray,
By genial Temperance refin'd,
Still brightens toward the perfect day;
106
It plunges in the poisonous bowl,
That flame must sicken and expire,
And leave the clay without a soul.
Slow months of toil in caverns cold,
Thy labyrinthine home prepare,
But man, to whirlwind passion sold,
Makes homeless those who trust his care,
From crime to crime, in downward stage,
By foul Intemperance darkly driven,
He forfeits with demoniac rage,
The peace of Earth and hope of Heaven.
Thy labyrinthine home prepare,
But man, to whirlwind passion sold,
Makes homeless those who trust his care,
From crime to crime, in downward stage,
By foul Intemperance darkly driven,
He forfeits with demoniac rage,
The peace of Earth and hope of Heaven.
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