Page:The West Indies, and Other Poems.djvu/141

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��THE MOLE-HILL.

��Tell me, thou dust beneath my feet, Thou dust that once hadst breath !

Tell me how many mortals meet In this small hill of death ?

The Mole, that scoops with curious toil

Her subterranean bed. Thinks not she ploughs a human soil,

And mines among the dead.

But, O ! where'er she turns the ground

My kindred earth I see ;

Once every atom of this mound

Lived, breathed, and felt like me. 9

�� �