THE GLOW-W OR M.
BENEATH the hedge, or near the stream,
A worm is known to stray;
That shews by night a lucid beam,
Which disappears by day.
Disputes have been, and still prevail,
From whence his rays proceed;
Some give that honour to his tail,
And others to his head.
But this is sure-the hand of Might
That kindles up the skies,
Gives him a modicum of light
Proportioned to his size.
Perhaps indulgent Nature meant,
By such a lamp bestowed,
To bid the traveller as he went
Be careful where he trod;
Nor crush a worm, whose useful light
Might serve, however small,
To shew a stumbling stone by night,
And save him from a fall.
Whate'er she meant, this truth divine
Is legible and plain-
'Tis power Almighty bids him shine,
Nor bids him shine in vain.
Ye proud and wealthy, let this theme
Teach humbler thoughts to you;
Since such a reptile has its gem,
And boasts its splendour too.
BIRTH OF THE BUTTERFLY.
THE shades of night were scarcely fled ;
The air was mild, the winds were still;
And slow the slanting sunbeams spread,
O'er wood and lawn, o'er heath and hill.
From fleecy clouds of pearly hue
That drop a short but balmy shower,
That hung like gems of morning dew,
On every tree and every flower.
And from the blackbird's mellow throat
Was poured so loud and long a swell,
As echoed with responsive note
From mountain side and shadowy dell.
When, bursting forth to life and light,
The offspring of enraptured May,
The butterfly on pinions bright,
Launched in full splendour on the day.
Unconscious of a mother's care,
No infant wretchedness she knew ;
But as she felt the vernal air,
At once to full perfection grew.
Her slender form, ethereal, light,
Her velvet-textured wings unfold,
With all the rainbow's colours bright,
And dropt with spots of burnished gold.
Trembling awhile, with joy she stood,
And felt the sun's enlivening ray,
Drank from the skies the vital flood,
And wondered at her plumage gay.
And balanced oft her broidered wings,
Through fields of air prepared to sail ;
Then on her venturous journey springs,
And floats along the rising gale.
Go, child of pleasure, range the fields-
Taste all the joys that spring can give-
Partake what bounteous summer yields,
And live while yet 'tis thine to live.
Go, sip the rose's fragrant dew
The lily's honeyed cup explore-
From flower to flower the search renew,
And rifle all the woodbine's store.
And let me trace thy vagrant flight,
Thy moments, too, of short repose;
And mark thee when, with fresh delight,
Thy golden pinions ope and close.
But hark! while I thus musing stand,
Pours on the gale an airy note,
And breathing from a viewless band,
Soft silvery tones around me float.
They cease; but still a voice I hear,
A whispered voice of hope and joy-
'Thy hour of rest approaches near,
Prepare thee, mortal; thou must die!
'Yet start not! on thy closing eyes
Another day shall still unfold;
A sun of milder radiance rise,
A happier age of joys untold.
'Shall the poor worm that shocks thy sight-
The humblest form in Nature's train-
Thus rise in new-born lustre bright,
And yet the emblem teach in vain?
'Ah, where were once her golden eyes,
Her glittering wings of purple pride?
Concealed beneath a rude disguise!
A shapeless mass to earth allied.
'Like thee the hapless reptile lived,
Like thee she toiled, like thee she spun ;
Like thine, her closing hour arrived,
Her labours ceased, her web was done.
'And shalt thou, numbered with the dead,
No happier state of being know?
And shall no future sorrow shed
On thee a beam of brighter glow?
'Is this the bound of Power divine,
To animate an insect frame?
Or shall not He, who moulded thine,
Wake at his will the vital flame?
'Go, mortal! in thy reptile state,
Enough to know to thee is given;
Go, and the joyful truth relate,
Frail child of earth, bright heir of Heaven.'
THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM.
A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long
Had cheered the village with his song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the glow-worm by his spark;
So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangued him thus, right eloquent :
'Did you admire my lamp,' quoth he,
'As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song;
For 'twas the self-same Power divine
Taught you to sing, and me to shine;
That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night.'
The songster heard his short oration,
And warbling out his approbation,
Released him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.
TO THE SPIDER.
ARTIST, who underneath my table
Thy curious texture has displayed;
Who, if we may believe the fable,
Wert once a lovely, blooming maid!
Insidious, restless, watchful spider,
Fear no officious damsel's broom,
Extend thy artful fabric wider,
And spread thy banners round my room.
Swept from the rich man's costly ceiling,
Thou 'rt welcome to my homely roof;
Here mayst thou find a peaceful dwelling,
And, undisturbed, attend thy woof.
While I thy wondrous fabric stare at,
And think on hapless poet's fate;
Like thee confined to lonely garret,
And rudely banished rooms of state.
And as from out thy tortured body
Thou drawest thy slender string with pain,
So does he labour, like a noddy,
To spin materials from his brain.
He, for some fluttering tawdry creature,
That spreads her charms before his eye;
And that's a conquest little better
Than thine o'er captive butterfly.
Thus far, 'tis plain we both agree,
Perhaps our deaths may better shew it'Tis ten to one but penury
Ends both the spider and the poet.
THE ANT AND THE CATERPILLAR.
As an ant, of his talents superiorly vain,
Was trotting, with consequence, over the plain,
A worm, in his progress remarkably slow,
Cried: Bless your good worship wherever you go!
I hope your great mightiness won't take it ill;
I pay my respects with a hearty good-will.'
With a look of contempt and impertinent pride,
Begone, you vile reptile!' his antship replied;
'Go-go, and lament your contemptible state,
But first, look at me; see my limbs how complete;
I guide all my motions with freedom and ease,
Run backward and forward, and turn when I please;
Of nature (grown weary) you shocking essay!
I spurn you thus from me-crawl out of my way?'
The reptile insulted, and vexed to the soul,
Crept onwards, and hid himself close in his hole;
But nature, determined to end his distress,
Soon sent him abroad in a butterfly's dress.
Ere long the proud ant, as repassing the road
(Fatigued from the harvest, and tugging his load),
The beau on a violet bank he beheld,
Whose vesture in glory a monarch's excelled;
His plumage expanded, 'twas rare to behold
So lovely a mixture of purple and gold.
The ant, quite amazed at a figure so gay,
Bowed,low with respect, and was trudging away;
'Stop, friend,' says the butterfly; 'don't be surprised;
I once was the reptile you spurned and despised;
But now I can mount, in the sunbeams I play,
While you must for ever drudge on in your way.'
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