167 



The agitation of the surface takes 



The form of circular, concentric wakes, 



Say, rhythmic wrinkles, rippling on and on, 



Till, by and by, the expansive force is gone, 



Fainter and fainter grow the rings, and then 



The last gives up the ghost and stillness reigns again. 



So was it, when, one day, your summons fell 



On the still bosom of my mental well, 



To perch in your commodious travelling cage, 



The song-bird of a mountain pilgrimage ; 



The watery rhymes forthwith began to run 



But courage ! What in time has once begun 



(To us may Heaven a good deliverance send!), 



In time (so science shows) will surely have an end. 



The rifle ball revolves awhile, they say, 

 Ere from the gun it speeds its fatal way. 

 And I remember well one frosty morning 

 The tinkling engine bell had given its warning; 

 The locomotive wheels slid round and round 

 Some moments, yet had gained no inch of ground. 



Does not the sun himself take time to rise, 

 While a precursive glow lights up the skies? 

 And Ocean's gradual deepening floods begin 

 With shoals in which a child may wade and swim. 

 This means that Nature makes no sudden leaps, 

 And Art, in this, faithfol to Nature keeps. 



The wary general, when he sits him down, 

 Prepared with patience to besiege a town, 

 With slow approach his parallels draws in, 

 Till .Prudence says : now let the assault begin! 



Shakspere exclaims, Shall then this wooden 



(Meaning the play-house called the Globe, you know) 



Contain within its small circumference 



The crowded camps 'of England and of France, 



And fields with terrible helmets bristling o'er 



That did affright the air at Agincourt? 



But did he not a greater wonder know 



The mighty mystery of that bony O 



That more contracted space that can contain 



Within the walls that fence the human brain 



The very globe of earth itself and all 



That doth inhabit this terraqueous ball? 



ESSEX INST. BULLETIN. IX ' 12 



