 | Jane and Ann Taylor: Original Poems for Infant Minds |  |
115
DEEP THINGS.
Come, think of the wonderful things there must be
Conceal'd in the caverns and cells of the sea:
For there must be jewels and diamonds bright,
Lost ages ago, hidden out of our sight,
And ships too entire that have founder'd in storms,
Now bristle the bottom with skeleton forms;
Deep tides murmur through them, and weeds as they pass'd
Were caught and hang clotted in wreaths on the mast.
Conceal'd in the caverns and cells of the sea:
For there must be jewels and diamonds bright,
Lost ages ago, hidden out of our sight,
And ships too entire that have founder'd in storms,
Now bristle the bottom with skeleton forms;
Deep tides murmur through them, and weeds as they pass'd
Were caught and hang clotted in wreaths on the mast.
And then the rich cargoes, wealth not to be told,
The silks and the spices, the silver and gold;
And guns that dealt death at the warrior's command,
Are silently tombing themselves in the sand.
But unburied whiten the bones of the crew;
Ah! would that the widow and orphan but knew
The place where their dirge by deep billows is sigh'd,
The place where unheeded, unholpen, they died.
The silks and the spices, the silver and gold;
And guns that dealt death at the warrior's command,
Are silently tombing themselves in the sand.
116
Ah! would that the widow and orphan but knew
The place where their dirge by deep billows is sigh'd,
The place where unheeded, unholpen, they died.
There, millions on millions of glittering shells,
The nautilus there, with its pearl-coated cells,
And the scale-cover'd monsters that sleep or that roam,
The lords without rival of that boundless home.
The nautilus there, with its pearl-coated cells,
And the scale-cover'd monsters that sleep or that roam,
The lords without rival of that boundless home.
The microscope mason his toil there pursues,
Coral insect! unseen are his beautiful hues;
Yet in process of time, tho' so puny and frail,
O'er the might of the ocean his structures prevail:
Coral insect! unseen are his beautiful hues;
Yet in process of time, tho' so puny and frail,
O'er the might of the ocean his structures prevail:
On the surface at last a flat islet is spied,
And shingle and sand are heaped up by the tide;
Seeds brought by the breezes take root, and erewhile
Man makes him a home on the insect-built pile!
And shingle and sand are heaped up by the tide;
Seeds brought by the breezes take root, and erewhile
Man makes him a home on the insect-built pile!
117
The deep then,—what is it? A wonderful hoard,
Where all precious things are in multitudes stored;
The workshop of nature, where islands are made,
And in silence, foundations of continents laid!
Where all precious things are in multitudes stored;
The workshop of nature, where islands are made,
And in silence, foundations of continents laid!
| Jane and Ann Taylor: Original Poems for Infant Minds | |