1831.] The Last Words of a Moth. 59 



for a while in the midst of the vexations of decaying powers and de- 

 clining health. She finally went to France to escape some of those em- 

 barrassments which appear to have strangely gathered on her, notwith- 

 standing the liberal allowance from the purse of the royal duke, which 

 he with great punctuality paid to the last. She died at St. Cloud, nervous 

 and wretched, and alone, which she ought not to have been, while she 

 had either a Son or Daughter in existence ! There is no effort which the 

 natural affection and duty of children to a Mother, let her be what she 

 might, should not have been made, to soothe the dying hour of this un- 

 happy woman ! But poverty was not added to her evils, for, besides a 

 sum of money, she had on her finger at the time of her death a diamond 

 ring, worth 400. But the sooner the subject is sunk in oblivion the 

 better. The name had passed away, and it ought to have slept for ever. 



THE LAST WORDS OF A MOTH. 



I BURN I die I cannot fly 



Too late, and all in vain ! 

 The glow the light charmed sense and sight 



Now nought is left but pain ! 

 That wicked flame, no pencil's aim, 



No pen can e'er depict on paper; 

 My waltz embraced that taper waist, 



Till I am wasted like a taper. 



Worthy the brightest hours of Greece 



Was that pure fire, or so / felt it ; 

 Its feeder towered in stedfast peace, 



While I believed for me it melted. 

 No use in heighos ! or alacks ! 



My cure is past the power of money ; 

 Too sure that form of virgin wax 



Retained the bee's sting with the honey. 



Its eye was blue, its head was cold, 



Its round neck white as lilied chalice; 

 In short, a thing of faultless mould, 



Fit for a maiden empress' palace. 

 So round and round I knew no better 



I fluttered, nearer to the heat ; 

 Methought I saw an offered letter 



Now I but see my winding-sheet ! 



Some pearly drops fell, as for grief 



Oh, sad delusion ! ah, poor Moth ! 

 I caused them not ; 'twas but a thief 



Had got within, to wrong us both. f . 

 Now I am left quite in the dark, 



The light's gone out that caused my pain ; 

 Let my last gaze be on that spark 



Kind breezes, blow it in again ! 



Then snuff it well, when once rekindled, 



Whoe'er about its brilliance lingers, 

 But though 'twere to one flicker dwindled, 



Be careful, or you'll burn your fingers. 

 It sought not me ; and though I die, 



On such bright cause I'll cast no scandal 

 I fled to one who could not fly 



Then blame the Moth but not the Candle ! I. H. 



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