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47

ADVENTURES OF A GRASSHOPPER

A grasshopper idle the whole summer long
Played about the tall grass with unthinking delight
& spent the whole day with his hopping & song
& sipp'd of the dew for his supper at night
Thus night brought him food & the red rising sun
Awoke him fresh fed to his singing agen
& thus he went on with his frolic & fun
Till winter winds whistled & where was he then
The plain wore no longer the hue of his wing
All withered & brown as a desert could be
In vain he looked round for the shelter of spring
While the longest green sprig scarcely reached to his knee
The rime feathered night fell as white as a sheet
& dewdrops were frozen before they could fall
The shy creeping sun too denied him his heat
Thus the poor silly soul was deserted of all
The ant had forewarned him of what he would be
When he laughed at his toil on the parched summer plain
He now saw the folly he then could not see
But advice taen too late is but labour in vain
If he wished to work now there was nothing to find
The winter told plain twas too late in the day
In vain he looked round in the snow & the wind
Unable to toil & too saddened for play
He looked back & sighed on his singing & racket
& employed the last hope he had left him to beg
So he sought in the woods withered leaves for a jacket
Of a rushe he made crutches & limped of a leg
The winds whistled round him while seeking for pity
Oer the white crimping snows he went limping along
Sighing sad at each cottage his sorrowful ditty
But a song out of season is povertys song
The first hut he came too belonged to a mouse
Beneath a warm bank at the foot of a tree
While dead rush & grass nodded over her house
& made it as snug as a dwelling could be
He told his sad tale & the mouse as in fear
Bade him work for a living & shrank from his sight

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For she at that moment was nibbling an ear
Of barley she stole from a barn over night
He left her & journeyed half hopeless & chill
& met with a beetle that bustled away
To a crack called his home in a sun slanting hill
& he'd scarce stop to hear what the beggar would say
Though he held neath his arm a hugh crumble of bread
Which a shepherd boy dropped on his cold dinner seat
& well might he haste when from danger he fled
For his dog had nigh crushed him to death with his feet
At the hut of an ear wig he next made a call
Who crept from the cold in a down headed thistle
That nodded & minutely threatened to fall
While winnowing by it the tempest did whistle
The beggars loud rappings soon scared her from sleep
& her bosom for safety did terribly quake
For she thought it the treading down rustle of sheep
But slept undisturbed when she found the mistake
Hot summers sweet minstrel the large bumble bee
The one that wears clothing of tawney & brown
Who early in springs kindled suns we may see
Booming round peeping blossoms & bowing them down
Our beggar tho hopeless resolved to try all
& came to his hut in an old rotten oak
The bee thought it spring & was glad at the call
But frowned a denial as soon as he woke
He then sought a Ladycows cottage of moss
As old summer friends with as little success
& told his misfortunes to live by the loss
She pitied but pitys no food for distress
A chrysalis dwelt on the back of dead leaves
In a palace of silk & it gladdened his heart
But wealth rarely sleeps without dreaming of thieves
So she kept her door bolted & bade him depart
In a long hollow keck by the side of the road
As tall as in summer tho withered & old
A long legged shepherd had taen his abode
& made a good shift to keep out of the cold
Our beggar knocked hard at his door passing bye

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& begged for a morsel & told his despair
The tennant looked out of his hole with a sigh
& pitied his fate—but had nothing to spare
He then shunned the road & went up by a hedge
Where some Gnats had collected to dance in the sun
& the day smiled so warm neath the bushes & sedge
That hopes had nigh whispered the summer begun
His heart even jumped at the sight of their play
But ere his sad steps to their revels had come
A cloud hid the sun that made night at noon day
& each gnat soon was missing away to his home
Over hill-spotted pasture & wild rushy lea
A poor houseless vagabond doomed for all weathers
He wandered where none was left wretched but he
While the white flakey snow flew about him like feathers
In vain he sought shelter & down in the vale
By the brook to an old hollow willow did roam
& there een a foot foundered slow creeping snail
Had crept in before him & made it her home
Her door was glued up from the frost & the snow
As a bee in its hive she was warm in her shell
& the storm it might drift & the wind it might blow
She was safe & could dream about spring in her cell
He knocked & begged hard een to creep in the porch
If she'd no room for two in her parlour to spare
But as dead as a dormouse asleep in a church
All was silent & still as no tennant was there
Thus pleading & praying & all to no good
Telling vainly a story of troubles & wants
He bethought of an old snubby oak by a wood
Where flourished in summer a city of ants
& though they reproved him for singing & play
& told him that winter would bring its reward
He knew they were rich & he hoped on his way
That pitys kind ear would his sorrows regard
From people so rich trifles could not be missed
So he thought ere his hopes to their finish had come
Though as to their giving he could not insist
Yet he might from such plenty be sure of a crumb

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Thus he dreamed on his journey but guess his supprise
When come to the place where such bustle had been
A high wooden wall hid it all from his eyes
& an ant round about it was not to be seen
Their doors were shut up till the summer returned
Nor would one have come had he stood for a day
Again in despair with his wants he sojourned
& sighed lone & sad on his sorrowful way
He limped on his crutches in sorrow & pain
With neer a hope left to indulge his distress
While snows spread a carpet all over the plain
& hiding his path made him travel by guess
He roamed through the wood where he'd fain made a stop
But hunger so painful still urged him away
For the oak tho it rocked like a cradle atop
Was as still at its root as a midsummer day
Where the leaves that the wind wirligigs to the ground
& feathers pruned off from the crows sooty wing
Lie mid the green moss that is blooming around
Undisturbed till the bird builds its nest in the spring
The night came apace & the clouds sailing bye
Wore the copper flushed tints of the cold setting sun
& crows to their rime feathered forests did flye
& owls round about had their whoopings begun
He hopped through rough hedges & rude creaking wickets
Till a shepherds lodgehouse in the fields met his eye
Where he heard with surprise the glad chirping of crickets
& hoped his companions & summer was nigh
He paused with delight oer the chitter & mirth
& tried to stare in thro a crack in the door
While a cat half asleep on the warm cottage hearth
Dreamed a mouse made the rustle & bounced on the floor
Our beggar half frighted to death at the sight
Hopped off & retreated as fast as he could
Better pleased to tramp on in the star studded night
Than hazard such danger for shelter & food
In passing a barn he a dwelling espied
Where silk hangings hung round the room like a hall
In a crack of the wall—once again he applied

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& who but a spider should come at the call
The Grasshopper said he was weary & lost
& the spider gave welcome with cunning disguise
Altho a hugh jiant in size to his host
Our beggars heart trembled in terrors surprise
When he set down before him dried wings of a fly
& fear made him ready to sink thro his seat
For hunger found nothing its wants to supply
& fear had him ready to sink thro his seat
Then to bed he went quaking & faith well he might
Where murdered things lay round the room in a heap
Too true did he dream oer his dangers that night
For the spider watched chances & killed him asleep
In the morning a cock robin hopped from his perch
& fluttered about by the side of the wall
Where the murdering spider peeped out on the lurch
& thought a new beggar was going to call
The Robin soon found what the spider was at
& killed him & bore the dead beggar away
But wether to bury or eat him or what
Is a secret he never would tell to this day
Thus idleness ever on sorrows attend
& often shakes hands with repentance too late
Till forced to take up with a foe as a friend
Then death & destruction is certain as fate
Had he taen the advice of the hardworking ant
He had shunned the sad snares of bad company then
& dwelt with his brothers & sisters from want
& lived to see summer & singing again
Now Anna my child to this story of truth
Pay attention & learn as thy reason comes on
To value that sweetest of seasons thy youth
Nor live to repent of its loss when its gone
Shun the idle that spend all their childhood in play
& pass them to school without care or regret
Where thy books they will show thee that this is the way
To shun the sad fate which the Grasshopper met