1840-50.] REBECCA S. NICHOLS, 293 Now, within this huge stone, like a king on his throne, A toad has been sitting more years than is known ; And strange as it seems, yet he constantly deems The world standing still while he's dream- ing his dreams — Does this wonderful toad, in his cheerful abode In the innermost heart of that flinty old stone. By the gray-haired moss and the lichen o'er- grown. Down deep in the hollow, from morning till night, Dun shadows glide over the ground, Where a water-course once, as it sparkled with light. Turned a ruined old mill-wheel around : Long years have passed by since its bed became dry. And the trees grew so close, scarce a glimpse of the sky Is seen in the hollow, so dark and so damp. Where the glow-worm at noonday is trim- ming his lamp ; And hardly a sound, from the thicket around. Where the rabbit and squirrel leap over the ground. Is heard by the toad, in his spacious abode. In the innermost heart of that ponderous stone. By the gray-haired moss and the lichen o'ergrown. Down deep in that hollow the bees never come ; The shade is too black for a flower; And jewel-winged birds, with their musical hum, Never flash in the night of that bower : But the cold-blooded snake, in the edge of the brake. Lies amid the rank grass half asleep, half awake ; And the ashen-white snail, with the slime in its trail, Moves wearily on, like a life's tedious tale. Yet disturbs not the toad in his spacious abode, In the innermost heart of that flinty old stone. By the gray-haired moss and the lichen o'ergrown. Down deep in a hollow some wiseacres sit. Like the toad in his cell in the stone ; Around them, in daylight, the blind owlets flit. And their creeds are by ivy o'ergrown : Their streams may go dry, and the wheels cease to ply. And their glimpses be few of the sun and the sky, StiU they hug to their breast every time- honored guest. And slumber and doze in inglorious rest ; For no progress they find in the wide sphere of mind. And the world's standing still with all of their kind ; Contented to dwell down deep in the well, Or move, like the snail, in the crust of his shell ; Or live, like the toad, in his narrow abode, With their souls closely wedged in a thick wall of stone. By the gray weeds of prejudice rankly o'ergrown. THE LOST SOUL. Mt soul went out in darkness, like the moon. When sudden clouds drive o'er the mid- night sky; And life was at its zenith ; the hot noon Had scorched and withered with its flaming eye,
