Serpulæ, and Terabellæ; Fowler in his "mortal coil"
Thinks he has a force sufficient any obstacle to foil.
Murchison, with Chambers walking, of striated rocks is talking;
Cumming up a glen goes stalking deer, with Landseer painting him;
Brougham here and there is tripping, up the rocks for wild bees skipping,
In the brooks and fountains dipping; gazing, till his eyes are dim,
On the Sun, as "Hydrostatics," "Optics," "Instincts," suit his whim.
While Arago drags his dying limbs with us, and, though still plying
All his much-loved arts, is sighing for his country's broken laws:
Happier Humboldt's mind in masses groups rocks, pebbles, trees, and grasses,