A PARODY.
(Addressed to Professor O. C. Marsh, by a Non-uniformitarian.)
BREAK, break, break
At thy cold, grey stones, O. C.!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.
O well for the five-toed horse!
That his bones are at rest in the clay:
O well for the ungulate brute!
That he roams o'er the prairie to-day.
Thy rocks bear the record of life,
Evolved from Time's earliest dawn.
But O for the view of a vanished form,
And the link that is missing and gone!
Break, break, break
At thy fossils, and stones, O. C.!
But the gentle charm of Uniform Law
Can never quite satisfy me.