78 METAMORPHOSES. 



■ — They cease — but still a voice I hear, 



A whisper'd voice of hope and joy, 

 " Thy hour of rest approaches near, 



" Prepare Ihee, 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? 



*' Conceal'd beneath a rude disguise, 

 " A shapeless mass to earth allied. 



" Like thee the hapless reptile liv'd, 



" Like thee he toil'd, like thee he spun, 



*' Like thine his closing hour arriv'd, 

 " His labour ceas'd, his web was done. 



" And shalt thou, numbcr'd with the dead, 

 " No happier state of being know ? 



*' And shall no future morrow 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! high heir of heaven!" 



