FABRE'S BOOK OF INSECTS 



I find more force and truth in some verses by a friend 

 of mine, of which these are a translation : 



Among the beasts a tale is told 



How a poor Cricket ventured nigh 

 His door to catch the sun's warm gold 



And saw a radiant Butterfly. 



She passed with tails thrown proudly back 



And long gay rows of crescents blue, 

 Brave yellow stars and bands of black, 



The lordliest Fly that ever flew. 



"Ah, fly away," the hermit said, 



"Daylong among your flowers to roam; 

 Nor daisies white nor roses red 



Will compensate my lowly home." 



True, all too true ! There came a storm 



And caught the Fly within its flood, 

 Staining her broken velvet form 



And covering her wings with mud. 



The Cricket, sheltered from the rain, 



Chirped, and looked on with tranquil eye; 



For him the thunder pealed in vain, 

 The gale and torrent passed him by. 



Then shun the world, nor take your fill 



Of any of its joys or flowers; 

 A lowly fire-side, calm and still, 



At least will grant you tearless hours! * 

 1 English transalation by Mr Stephen M'Kenna, 



[176] 



