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(Excerpt)
MEANWHILE, not idle, though unwatched by me, | |
| The coral architects in silence reared | |
| Tower after tower beneath the dark abyss. | |
| Pyramidal in form the fabrics rose, | |
| From ample basements narrowing to the height, | 5 |
| Until they pierced the surface of the flood, | |
| And dimpling eddies sparkled round their peaks. | |
| Then (if great things with small may be compared) | |
| They spread like water-lilies, whose broad leaves | |
| Make green and sunny islets on the pool, | 10 |
| For golden flies, on summer days, to haunt, | |
| Safe from the lightning-seizure of the trout; | |
| Or yield their lap to catch the minnow springing | |
| Clear from the stream to ’scape the ruffian pike, | |
| That prowls in disappointed rage beneath, | 15 |
| And wonders where the little wretch found refuge. | |
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| One headland topt the waves, another followed; | |
| A third, a tenth, a twentieth soon appeared, | |
| Till the long barren gulf in travail lay | |
| With many an infant struggling into birth. | 20 |
| Larger they grew and lovelier, when they breathed | |
| The vital air, and felt the genial sun; | |
| As though a living spirit dwelt in each, | |
| Which, like the inmate of a flexile shell, | |
| Moulded the shapeless slough with its own motion, | 25 |
| And painted it with colors of the morn. | |
| Amidst that group of younger sisters stood | |
| The Isle of Pelicans, as stands the moon | |
| At midnight, queen among the minor stars, | |
| Differing in splendor, magnitude, and distance. | 30 |
| So looked that sleeping archipelago: small isles, | |
| By interwinding channels linked yet sundered; | |
| All flourishing in peaceful fellowship, | |
| Like forest-oaks that love society: | |
| Of various growth and progress; here, a rock | 35 |
| On which a single palm-tree waved its banner | |
| There, sterile tracts unmouldered into soil; | |
| Yonder, dark woods whose foliage swept the water, | |
| Without a speck of turf, or line of shore, | |
| As though their roots were anchored in the ocean. | 40 |
| But most were gardens redolent with flowers, | |
| And orchards bending with Hesperian fruit | |
| That realized the dreams of olden time. | |
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| Throughout this commonwealth of sea-sprung lands | |
| Life kindled in ten thousand happy forms; | 45 |
| Earth, air, and ocean were all full of life, | |
| Still highest in the rank of being soared | |
| The fowls amphibious, and the inland tribes | |
| Of dainty plumage or melodious song; | |
| In gaudy robes of many-colored patches, | 50 |
| The parrots swung like blossoms on the trees, | |
| While their harsh voices undeceived the ear. | |
| More delicately pencilled, finer drawn | |
| In shape and lineament,—too exquisite | |
| For gross delights,—the Birds of Paradise | 55 |
| Floated aloof, as though they lived on air, | |
| And were the orient progeny of heaven, | |
| Or spirits made perfect veiled in shining raiment. | |
| From flower to flower, where wild bees flew and sung, | |
| As countless, small, and musical as they, | 60 |
| Showers of bright humming-birds came down, and plied | |
| The same ambrosial task, with slender bills | |
| Extracting honey, hidden in those bells | |
| Whose richest blooms grew pale beneath the blaze | |
| Of twinkling winglets hovering o’er their petals, | 65 |
| Brilliant as rain-drops where the western sun | |
| Sees his own beams of miniature in each. * * * * * | |
| The fierce sea-eagle, humble in attire, | |
| In port terrific, from his lonely eyrie, | |
| (Itself a burden for the tallest tree) | 70 |
| Looked down o’er land and sea as his dominions: | |
| Now, from long chase, descending with his prey, | |
| Young seal or dolphin, in his deadly clutch, | |
| He fed his eagles in the noonday sun; | |
| Nor less at midnight ranged the deep for game; | 75 |
| At length entrapped with his own talons, struck | |
| Too deep to be withdrawn, where a strong shark, | |
| Roused by the anguish, with impetuous plunge, | |
| Dragged his assailant down into the abyss, | |
| Struggling in vain for liberty and life: | 80 |
| His young ones heard their parent’s dying shrieks, | |
| And watched in vain for his returning wing. | |
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| Here ran the stormy-petrels on the waves, | |
| As though they were the shadows of themselves | |
| Reflected from a loftier flight through space. | 85 |
| The stern and gloomy raven haunted here, | |
| A hermit of the atmosphere, on land | |
| Among vociferating crowds a stranger, | |
| Whose hoarse, low, ominous croak disclaimed communion | |
| With those upon the offal of whose meals | 90 |
| He gorged alone, or tore their own rank corses. | |
| The heavy penguin, neither fish nor fowl, | |
| With scaly feathers and with finny wings, | |
| Plumped stone-like from the rock into the gulf, | |
| Rebounding upward swift as from a sling. | 95 |
| Through yielding water as through limpid air, | |
| The cormorant, Death’s living arrow, flew, | |
| Nor ever missed a stroke, or dealt a second, | |
| So true the infallible destroyer’s aim. | |
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