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We close our description of these sparkling, but 
short-lived beings of the sunbeams, with the follow- 
ing beautiful verses from the pen of Mrs Hemans:— 
TO A BUTTERFLY NEAR A TOMB. 
BY MRS HEMANS, 
I stoop where the lip of Song lay low, 
Where the dust was heayy on Beauty’s brow ; 
Where stillness hung on the heart of Love, 
And a marble weeper kept watch above ; 
T stood in the silence of lonely thought, 
While Song and Love in my own soul wrought 5 
Though each unwhisper’d, each dimm’d with fear, 
Hach but a banish’d spirit here. 
Then didst ¢how pass me in radiance by, 
Child of the Sunshine, young Butterfly ! 
Thou that dost bear, on thy fairy wing, 
No burden of inborn suffering. 
Thou wert flitting past that solemn tomb, 
Over a bright world of joy and bloom ; 
And strangely I felt, as I saw thee shine, 
The all that sever’d thy life and mine. 
Mine, with its hidden mysterious things 
Of Love and Grief, its unsounded springs, 
And quick thoughts, wandering o’er earth and sky, 
With voices to question Eternity ! 
VOL, I. P 
