A Trilobite Speaks -- Susan Price
The trilobite in his rocky bed. Photo: Wikimedia The Lay of the Trilobite by May Kendall A mountain’s giddy height I sought, Because I could not find Sufficient vague and mighty thought To fill my mighty mind; And as I wandered ill at ease, There chanced upon my sight A native of Silurian seas, An ancient Trilobite. So calm, so peacefully he lay, I watched him e'en with tears: I thought of Monads far away In the forgotten years. How wonderful it seemed and right, The providential plan, That he should be a Trilobite, And I should be a Man! And then, quite natural and free Out of his rocky bed, That Trilobite he spoke to me And this is what he said: ‘I don’t know how the thing was done, Although I cannot doubt it; But Huxley – he if anyone Can tell you all about it; ‘How all your faiths are ghosts and dreams, How in the silent sea Your ancestors were Monotremes – Whatever these may be; How you evolved your shining lights