THE JUNE-BUG. 
7 
The June-Bug. 
BY WILLIAM J. LONG IN “ THE OUTLOOK.” 
Thou stupid blockhead, blundering in my face! 
Is not the great world wide enough, but thou 
Must quit the dusky night where thou’rt home 
To dazzle at my lamp, and burn thy wings; 
To blind thy goggle eyes with too much light, 
And bang thy dollish head ’gainst every thing? 
Thou meddling fool! thou’rt ever out of place. 
No meeting’s free from thy disturbing buzz; 
No child too timid for thy scaring hum; 
Nor lady’s nerves too strung, nor hair too fine 
For thee to tangle it with scratchy claws — 
There in my ink again! 
And now, with pondering look and drabbled fe&t, 
Thou serawl’st rude line across an unstained page. 
And yet, poor thing! thou dost not mean it so; 
The light attracts thee! and thou would’st know. 
How like we are! This dazzling light to thee — 
Why, that’s the sunlit world; and we poor men 
Do bang our heads ’gainst every wall of it, 
And wonder why they ache. Our blundering feet 
Tramp rough-shod over nerves that twinge in pain; 
We meddle daily with the mysteries, 
To frighten timid souls with buzzing talk. 
Of laws of unknown things, and life, and death; 
We burn our souls in many a garish lamp; 
And many a page lies stained with thought more rude 
Than beetle’s legs could draw, and less intelligent. 
And yet, from out the gloom of our first flight, 
The primal twilight of our ignorance, 
’Twas shining of a light that called us in. 
Pardon, fellow-blunderer! Mine’s the fault, 
Impatient of the things I do myself, 
The fashion only altered. Blunderers both! 
The one with open book and bruised heart, 
The other with his broken wings and feet. 
There, I’ll blow out the light; it troubles thee; 
And here’s a bit of wool to dry thee on, 
Rest thee a moment till thy dazed head clears; 
Then, (there’s the window open) go in peace — 
And may the gentle God, who made us both, 
When next I blunder in His mighty face, 
Do so with me. 
