58 TO THE MAY-FLY. 



Thy joyous gambols as I see, 

 May -fly, I'd almost wish to be 



Such thing of brief duration, 

 To sport, like thee, one little day, 

 Nor pass through years of slow decay, 



To reach life's termination. 



But ah! what graceless wish breathed I? 

 How little knowledge, brilliant Fly, 



Of thy existence shewing : 

 Still less of that I call my own, 

 How heedless of the precious boon, 



And Him to whom 'tis owing ! 



Bright insect, ere thy filmy wing, 

 Expanding on the breath of spring, 



Quivered with brief enjoyment ; 

 ; Tis thine for years immured to dwell 

 Within a lone and gloomy cell, 



To eat, thy sole employment. 



"Within that cavern dark and dank, 



Scooped in a streamlet's oozy bank, 



i 



Its walls the water laving, 

 Thy form and nature incomplete, 

 Earth was thy home, and earth thy meat, 



So coarse and vile thy craving. 



