THE FIRE FLY. 139 



The following beautiful little ballad, by 

 Mr. Moore, the elegant translator of Ana- 

 creon, &c. is so interesting, and descriptive 

 of this highly decorated fly, that we cannot 

 resist inserting the same. 



The story is supposed to be the exclama- 

 tion of a maniac, upon the death of a lady 

 to whom he paid his addresses, and w^hose 

 loss deprived him of his senses. The scene 

 Is the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, which 

 contains about two hundred and fifty square 

 miles, between Alexandria and Virginia. 



" They made her a grave too cold and damp 



For a soul so warm and true ; 

 And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swampf, 

 Where all night long, by a Fire-fly lamp, 



She paddles her white canoe. 



And her Fire-fly lamp I soon shall see, 



And her paddle I soon shall hear; 

 Long and loving our life shall be — 

 And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, 



When the footstep of Death is near. 



Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds, — 



His path was rugged and sore, 

 Thro' tangled juniper beds of reeds, 

 Through many a fen where the serpent feeds, 



And man ne'er trod before. 



