 | Poems |  |
51
THE LARK AND THE BUTTERFLY.
Summer, the glorious summer, shone
O'er bank, and rill, and bower;
The Lark, up in the heavens alone,
Shed music like a shower!—
O'er bank, and rill, and bower;
The Lark, up in the heavens alone,
Shed music like a shower!—
A shower of fiery rapture deep,
That quivered down to earth—
As waters from some shaggy steep,
In silvery sheen and mirth.
That quivered down to earth—
As waters from some shaggy steep,
In silvery sheen and mirth.
Beneath, where splendid-coloured flowers
A thousand—thousand rainbows wove,
A Butterfly lit up the bowers,
Blest as that lark above!
A thousand—thousand rainbows wove,
A Butterfly lit up the bowers,
Blest as that lark above!
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And thus my fancy prompted me,
The Lark rejoicing sung—
“O Butterfly! ascend with me
While summer yet is young.
The Lark rejoicing sung—
“O Butterfly! ascend with me
While summer yet is young.
“The flowers you fondly now pursue,
Their blazing tints shall lose—
The heavens, when even no longer blue,
Shall keep their sun-light glows.
Their blazing tints shall lose—
The heavens, when even no longer blue,
Shall keep their sun-light glows.
“Fair Butterfly, those glorious leaves
Shall sere and scattered lie—
The storm that shakes the autumn sheaves
Shall powerless shake the sky!”
Shall sere and scattered lie—
The storm that shakes the autumn sheaves
Shall powerless shake the sky!”
And thus that Butterfly beneath
Made answer soft and low—
“These flowers, 'tis true, shall sink in death,
But I too—I must go!
Made answer soft and low—
“These flowers, 'tis true, shall sink in death,
But I too—I must go!
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“With them—when on the stalk they droop,
Transpierced with death-like dyes—
Let me melt soft from life and hope,
And all their melodies!
Transpierced with death-like dyes—
Let me melt soft from life and hope,
And all their melodies!
“But thou! when death shall smite thy frame,
When silenced is thy lay—
No sympathy thy fate shall claim
Through those blue depths of day!
When silenced is thy lay—
No sympathy thy fate shall claim
Through those blue depths of day!
“Those haughty heavens will still laugh on,
In glory, joy, and might;
And though thy glad career be done,
No gloom shall wrap the light.
In glory, joy, and might;
And though thy glad career be done,
No gloom shall wrap the light.
“For me—a rich grave shall be mine
In yon wood-hyacinth's bell,—
Which shall with dewy tear-drops shine
At my last—fare thee well!”
In yon wood-hyacinth's bell,—
Which shall with dewy tear-drops shine
At my last—fare thee well!”
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