188 BUTTERFLIES. 



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 unfold. 



" 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 glitt'ring wings of purple pride ? 



Conceal'd 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 ? 



