But course determined; and its hollow eyes,
That showed no light nor vision, led the way,
By spirit instinctive, while the train moved on,
Through the dark silence of the abysmal sea.

Again old Ocean spake. " Man ploughs and sows,
And penetrates the bowels of the earth
For mines and treasure; likewise measuring
Her periods and the changes of her rocks,
Above, and deep beneath. I know no change,
Master, or measurer, companion, friend;
Like the sublime old heavens, I dwell alone,
Apart from alteration through all times—
Apart from man's intrusion, who but dares,
In his frail bark, at mercy of the winds,
The thin foam-surface of my empery
To skim. But what is this?—A Shape unknown
Moves through my lowest depths. Say, what art
thou ? "

THE TELEGRAPH.

I am the instrument of man's desire
To hold communion with his fellow man,
In distant fields—in other climes afar—
Swifter than flight of migratory bird—
Nay, swift almost as speech from mouth to mouth.

THE SEA

Man hath his ships, and on my surface holds
Permission to appear; but for my depths,
They have been sacred evermore. Depart!

THE TELEGRAPH.

Slow are his ships, O Sea, when wind and sail
Propel, and e'en the engines that surpass
All sails, are tedious when compared with me.
Thou measurest not thy being by its time,
But men are children of a varying span;
Their life is made of years, their years of days,
And every day to them built up of hours,
Which gives them all the hold they have on earth,
To do and suffer.

THE SEA.

'Tis their destiny:
Seek not by science to disturb the law
Which framed humanity, and meted out
Its time and space. Return, and climb the rock.

THE TELEGRAPH.

But science also is man's destiny—
Whereby 'tis granted to his working brain,
His industry, his patience, and resolve,
To change his old relations with the law
Of space and time; henceforth dependent made
On man's advance in knowledge, and the power
Of using knowledge.

THE SEA.

Till perchance his mind,
Grown mad with its ambition and success,
This strange encroachment on my solemn depths
May seek to raise into some mastery
Over my realm; wherefore, oh Serpent-shape,
Turn back, lest I uprend thee, and aloft
Send drifting like a wreck of ropes, till cast
By my indignant waves upon the strand,
To rot amidst the weeds.

THE TELEGRAPH.

Awhile forbear,
Great nurse and cradle of the infant earth!
Nor scorn man's efforts at a natural growth,
Which in some distant age may hope to find
Maturity, if not perfection.

THE SEA.

Speak:
I am no friend to the busy insect man—
Nor yet his foe. His white sail cometh—goeth—
His engines with the long black train of clouds,
Pass and repass. So let them. To my vastness,
The surfaces they traverse are as lines
Of spider-work against the moving sky.
I scarce observe their presence;—therefore speak:
But pause while speaking—for I well observe
That never hast thou ceased to glide along
While holding parley.

THE TELEGRAPH.

Wondrous is my power,
And certain in its action; but, O Sea,
I must lie humbly underneath thy throne,
Accordant with thy laws; therefore, I pray,
Be patient of rny progress, and receive
This justifying creed of human hopes.

THE SEA

My caverns hear thee, but perchance the sands
May be thine only chronicle;—erased
With the next tide.

THE TELEGRAPH.

Let my words be erased
When they have done their work.

THE SEA.

Slumber comes o'er me—
But in my visions shall thy voice be heard.

THE TELEGRAPH.

In ages past, the sovereigns of the earth
Held human lives as dust beneath their feet,
And neighbouring nations born but to be made
Their tributary vassals; distant lands,
Having thy broad arm thrown between, appeared
As barbarous,—worthy conquest, or contempt,
Long devastating wars, or all the scorn
That ignorance could breed. The earth was then
A feasting place and footstool for its kings.
The kings adorned the soldiers and the priests,
The one with golden garb—with fruitful fields
The other; both becoming thus a power
Within a power, and all cementing close
Despotic thrones. The People, body and mind,
Subdued like metal cast in sandy moulds,
Not knowing its own strength, and being weak
By ignorance, and lack of rational will,
So that they starved not, question'd not the right
Of aught, as ordered by these heaven-sent kings,
With their strong armies and their banded priests.
Whereof it came, that nation thought of nation,
Not as a part of the great family
Of human kind, but, mainly, as a horde
Fit to be slaughtered, plundered, hated, scorned—
Belied in daily speech, and history.
Such thoughts and deeds have with those ages
passed,
And nation knowing nation by the truth,—
By actual presence, and familiar words,
Spoken or written, henceforth will be slow
To see the red necessity of war,
Save as a brain-disease of knaves and fools,
Nor lend a ready ear to statesmen's tricks,
Hatching an insult or alarm of foes,
Dispersing thus at home men's active thoughts
O'er all their groaning needs and social wrongs.