The lay of an Irish harp :: :: University of Virginia Library

Child of a sun-beam, airy minion,
Whither points thy flutt'ring pinion?
Pinion dipt in rainbow hues,
Pinion gem'd with sparkling dews
Shed from many a weeping flower,
Bathed in matin's rosy shower;
Tell me why thy form so bland
Still eludes my eager hand?

190

Tell me, wanton, wouldst thou be
Madly wild, and wildly free?
If freedom is thy life's best treasure,
Then get thee hence, gay child of pleasure,
From feudal tow'r and cloistral cell,
For freedom there did never dwell;
And I no more thy form will woo,
But pleas'd thy varied flight pursue;
And now upon a zephyr's sigh
Thou seem'st in languid trance to die,
Now flutt'ring wild, thy golden winglet
Sports in many a wanton ringlet,
Or soar'st to drink the sun's first gleam,
Or bask thee in the infant beam;
Then panting in thy heaven-snatcht glow,
I feel thee flutt'ring o'er my brow,

191

Whence thy breezy plumage chases
Each tear the hand of sorrow traces,
Or, as athwart my lip you fly,
Fan away the woe-born sigh,
Tear of sorrow, sigh of woe,
Early taught by fate to flow,
From an heart a stranger still
To nature's dearest, sweetest thrill;
Tear of sorrow, sigh of woe,
Ne'er given thee, happy thing, to know;
Thee, whose life a raptured minute
Bears an age of blisses in it;

192

Thee, whose life a minute's measure,
Dawns, exists, and fades in pleasure.
Oh! insect of the painted wing,
I've watch'd thee from the morning's spring,
As idly lapt in soft repose
Midst the blushes of the rose,
The playful zephyr's balmy breath
Has wak'd thee from thy transient death,
Or the bee in tuneful numbers
Put to flight thy fragrant slumbers;
And as thy wings of varied hue
(Dipt in rose-embosom'd dew)
You flutt'ring imp and deftly try,
Still I follow, still you fly
Midst the lavish charms of Nature,
Thou her freest, gayest creature;

193

Now the vi'let's balmy sigh,
Now the tulip's changeful dye,
Now the rose's orient glow,
Now the lily's tintless snow,
Woo and win thy brief caress,
Alternate pall, alternate bless,
Till the summer's glow is o'er,
Till her beauties bloom no more,
Then the flow'r whose fragrant sigh
Survives her warmly blushing dye,
Lures thee to an heaven of rest
On her pale but od'rous breast,
And amidst her balmy treasures
Thou diest in th' excess of pleasures.
Oh happy careless thing! could I
But live like thee, but like thee die,

194

Like thee resign my fleeting breath,
My life of bliss, in blissful death,
I'd envy not th' extended span,
The patriarchal day of man.
For him let time's protracting pow'rs
Still spare existence' drooping flow'rs,
And wreaths of joyless years entwine,
But oh! one raptured hour be mine.

This fragment has already appeared in the Novice of St. Dominick, and the above lines are an allusion to the destiny of the heroine.