THE ENTOMOLOGIST’S WEEKLY INTELLIGENCEE. 175 
The feehle of earth with a grasp enfold 
So tight that at once they are old, 
And ’ere the lamp well burns the light is 
fled, 
And scarce you live before that you are 
' dead ? 
How! art thou not numb with cold? 
How earnest thou now to thy birth ? 
For Summer the death-knell toll’d. 
And bitter blasts sweep o’er the earth ; 
The fair form of Nature is roll’d 
In a garment without a fold, — 
A corse from which the spirit forth has fled. 
Whose beauty will depart now she is dead. 
“Who has known aught of me?’ said 
the moth, 
“ Or who has my story told ? 
It is thou who art over-bold. 
And art wanting in knowledge, both 
Of my nature, that feels not the cold. 
And my joy, that ne’er groweth old ; 
Go, learn my living motions all are fed 
By a power innate till I am dead. 
“ Still alive and still bold,” sung the moth, 
“ I grow bolder and still more bold. 
This blast fills me ten thousand fold 
Fuller of speed, dispelling the sloth 
That enwrap’d me till winterly cold 
Had my pupa-cover unrolled. 
Call’d me to life when other moths were 
dead. 
And set me free when other lives were fled. 
“ Be quick then and bold,” sung the 
moth,’ 
And let not thy mind be sold 
To business, the world and gold. 
To pleasure of sense or a soul-killing 
sloth : 
Leave the millions who heed not to mould 
Their life thus, but do thou enfold 
This truth to thy heart to guide thy 
head — 
Fear not to follow where thy duty led.” 
jVTote.— The irregularity of the lines 
and the final repetitions are adopted from 
the “ Lines written on bearing of the 
death of Napoleon,” by Shelley, on which 
this poem is modelled. 
THE HUMMING-BIRD SPHINX. 
Beautiful creature, flashing like the 
lightning 
Into my garden, darting unexpected. 
Poising in sunbeams, hov’ring round the 
phloxes. 
Sipping their nectar 1 
Art thou of mind the latest thought im- 
mortal. 
Fervent and glowing, dower’d with emo- 
tion. 
Essence condens’d to substance; thus 
assuming 
Visible being ? 
« 
Art thou a soul or spirit made incarnate. 
Veiling thy beauties, dazzling else to 
mortals. 
Toning efifulgence, bringing glory down to 
Finite perception ? 
Stay here a moment, fain I would detain 
thee ! 
Breathless I gaze, for fear I should dis- 
turb thy 
Movements ecstatic, keeping truest time 
to 
Delicate music. 
I 
Where is thy home ? and what can thus 
have tempted 
Thee to descend to viands earth can offer ? 
Even in flowers is there aught befitting 
Exquisite senses? 
Gone as thou earnest! how or where I 
know not. 
Like to a thought departing undevelop’d. 
Leaving a rapture words can ne’er be 
found for. 
Mocking expression. 
