Conversations introducing poetry chiefly on subjects of natural history. For the use of children and young persons. By Charlotte Smith |
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THE CAPTIVE FLY. |
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 | Conversations introducing poetry |  |
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THE CAPTIVE FLY.
Seduced by idle change and luxury,
See in vain struggles the expiring fly,
He perishes! for lo, in evil hour,
He rushed to taste of yonder garish flower,
Which in young beauty's loveliest colours drest,
Conceals destruction in her treacherous breast,
While round the roseate chalice odours breathe,
And lure the wanderer to voluptuous death.
See in vain struggles the expiring fly,
He perishes! for lo, in evil hour,
He rushed to taste of yonder garish flower,
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Conceals destruction in her treacherous breast,
While round the roseate chalice odours breathe,
And lure the wanderer to voluptuous death.
Ill-fated vagrant! did no instinct cry,
Shun the sweet mischief?—No experienc'd fly
Bid thee of this fair smiling fiend beware,
And say, the false Apocynum is there?
Ah wherefore quit for this Circean draught
The Bean's ambrosial flower, with incense fraught,
Or where with promise rich, Fragaria spreads
Her spangling blossoms on her leafy beds;
Could thy wild flight no softer blooms detain?
And tower'd the Lilac's purple groups in vain?
Or waving showers of golden blossoms, where
Laburnum's pensile tassels float in air,
When thou within those topaz keels might creep
Secure, and rock'd by lulling winds to sleep.
Shun the sweet mischief?—No experienc'd fly
Bid thee of this fair smiling fiend beware,
And say, the false Apocynum is there?
Ah wherefore quit for this Circean draught
The Bean's ambrosial flower, with incense fraught,
Or where with promise rich, Fragaria spreads
Her spangling blossoms on her leafy beds;
Could thy wild flight no softer blooms detain?
And tower'd the Lilac's purple groups in vain?
Or waving showers of golden blossoms, where
Laburnum's pensile tassels float in air,
When thou within those topaz keels might creep
Secure, and rock'd by lulling winds to sleep.
But now no more for thee shall June unclose
Her spicey Clove-pink, and her damask Rose;
Not for thy food shall swell the downy Peach,
Nor Raspberries blush beneath the embowering Beech.
In efforts vain thy fragile wings are torn,
Sharp with distress resounds thy small shrill horn,
While thy gay happy comrades hear thy cry,
Yet heed thee not, and careless frolic by,
Till thou, sad victim, every struggle o'er,
Despairing sink, and feel thy fate no more.
An insect lost should thus the muse bewail?
Ah no! but 'tis the moral points the tale
From the mild friend, who seeks with candid truth
To show its errors to presumptuous Youth;
From the fond caution of parental care,
Whose watchful love detects the hidden snare,
How do the Young reject, with proud disdain,
Wisdom's firm voice, and Reason's prudent rein,
And urge, on pleasure bent, the impetuous way,
Heedless of all but of the present day,
Then while false meteor-lights their steps entice,
They taste, they drink, the empoisoned cup of vice;
Till misery follows; and too late they mourn,
Lost in the fatal gulph, from whence there's no return.
Her spicey Clove-pink, and her damask Rose;
Not for thy food shall swell the downy Peach,
Nor Raspberries blush beneath the embowering Beech.
In efforts vain thy fragile wings are torn,
Sharp with distress resounds thy small shrill horn,
While thy gay happy comrades hear thy cry,
Yet heed thee not, and careless frolic by,
Till thou, sad victim, every struggle o'er,
Despairing sink, and feel thy fate no more.
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Ah no! but 'tis the moral points the tale
From the mild friend, who seeks with candid truth
To show its errors to presumptuous Youth;
From the fond caution of parental care,
Whose watchful love detects the hidden snare,
How do the Young reject, with proud disdain,
Wisdom's firm voice, and Reason's prudent rein,
And urge, on pleasure bent, the impetuous way,
Heedless of all but of the present day,
Then while false meteor-lights their steps entice,
They taste, they drink, the empoisoned cup of vice;
Till misery follows; and too late they mourn,
Lost in the fatal gulph, from whence there's no return.
| Conversations introducing poetry | |