MACKIE — ON THE BOTTOM-ROCKS. 



159 



amount of sediment which, according to our present information, 

 can be permanently laid down in our deeper waters, over the range of 

 our present seas, would probably not exceed in the aggregate, including 

 even our littoral accumulations, a coating of more than three inches 

 thick in ten thousand years ; and yet we have at least a minimum 

 thickness of upwards of 80,000 feet of consolidated sedimentary rock 

 to explain as the result of natural agencies in past time. 



The whole of nature teems with the sublime and beautiful, whether 

 we turn to the starry firmament, with its planets and its suns, its 

 comets and its meteors, and its showers of falling stars, the lightning 

 and the tempests, to the contemplation of the incomprehensible dis- 

 tance of the heavenly bodies, or to the rapidity of their motion. 



But what more sublime than the age of Time ? " Ye paint me old ! 



and why says the Dutch poet : — 



" Ye paint me old ! and why ? 

 And doth my speed eld's frozen blood betray ? 

 IVIethinks the storm-wind is not swifter fliglited ; 

 The rapid lightning scarce o'ertakes my way. 

 Ye think yom hm-rying thoughts perchance outrun me : 

 Go, race with sunbeams, — when they have outdone me, 

 Talk of my age, — I fly more swift than they." 

 ***** 



" One glance— but one — 

 O'er the huge tombs of vanished Time, around ye, — 

 Mountains of ruins piled by me alone : 

 I did it : — I smote, yesterday, — to-mon'ow, 

 I wait to smite, — yom- cities, — you ; go, borrow 

 Safety and strength, they shall avail you none. 

 Eternity was mine, — and still eternal 

 I hold my course, — God's being is my stay, — 

 I saw worlds fashioned by His words supernal : 

 I saw them fasliioned,— saw them pass away. 

 I bear upon my cheeks unfading roses ;" 

 ***** 



" Take from my front the white locks Folly fancies. 

 My hair is golden, and my forehead curled ; 

 My youth but sports with years. Fire are my glances." 



***** 



" But give me too the horn -glass,— ever raining 

 Exhaustless streams untired ;— for I am he 

 Who pours forth gems and gold, and fruits undraining, 

 And treasures ever new, or can it be 

 For desolation only ? Do not new drops 

 Of dew replace in summer fervour's fallow dew-drops ? 

 Fresh flov/ers replace each flower crush'd by me ? 



