THE CORAL INSECT.
��TOIL on ! toil on ! ye ephemeral train,
That build on 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 through 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 mountains exult where the wave hath been.
But why do ye plant 'neath the billows dark The wrecking reef for the gallant bark ?
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