SAPPHICS. 



107 



IV.— The Cicada. 



Happy Cicada, perched on lofty branches, 

 Deep in the forest, cheerful as a monarch, 

 Tasting the dewdrops, making aU the mountains 



Echo thy chirping. 



Thine is each treasure that the earth produces ; 

 Thine is the freshness of each field and forest ; 

 Thine are the fruits, and thine are all the flowers. 



Balmy spring scatters. 



Husbandmen fondly doat upon thy friendship, 

 Knowing thee guiltless of a thought to harm them ; 

 Thee, mortals honour, sweet and tuneful songster, 



Prophet of summer. 



Thee, all the muses hail a kindred being ; 

 Thee, great Apollo owns a dear companion ; 

 Oh, it was he who gave that note of gladness, 



Wearisome, never. 



Songskilful, earthborn, mirth and music loving, 

 Fairylike being, free from age and suffering, 

 Passionless, purified from earth's defilement, 



Almost a spirit. 



