TO THE MAY-FLY. 57 



True but then (say we) lie is only a creature of instinct. 

 Suppose he were endowed with understanding, and a know- 

 ledge of his own frail nature ; then perhaps, being aware that 

 his existence was so very brief, he might, on rising perfect 

 from his native streamlet, let himself drop back again and be 

 drowned, because to enjoy life till sunset would not be 

 "worth his while." Would our May-fly be, in this case, 

 veritably a creature of reason ? We trow not, or his reason 

 would be, at best, but the reasoning of the day. 



TO THE MAY-FLY. 



Winged reveller of the glowing eve, 

 Born on the sunset beam to weave 



Thy evolutions airy ; 

 One in a maze of living gems, 

 Bright as in fairy diadems, 



Thyself a dancing fairy ! 



Thou and thy little comrades gay 

 Now clustering thick as flowers of May, 



Yon hawthorn bush adorning ; 

 Will, like those blooms (but earlier) shed, 

 Find on the earth a dewy bed, 



Ere next awakes the Morning. 



