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.