Conversations introducing poetry chiefly on subjects of natural history. For the use of children and young persons. By Charlotte Smith |
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| 1. | CONVERSATION THE FIRST. |
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 | Conversations introducing poetry |  |
CONVERSATION THE FIRST.
6
TO A GREEN-CHAFER, ON A WHITE ROSE.
You dwell within a lovely bower,
Little chafer, gold and green,
Nestling in the fairest flower,
The rose of snow, the garden's queen.
Little chafer, gold and green,
Nestling in the fairest flower,
The rose of snow, the garden's queen.
There you drink the chrystal dew,
And your shards as emeralds bright
And corselet, of the ruby's hue,
Hide among the petals white.
And your shards as emeralds bright
And corselet, of the ruby's hue,
Hide among the petals white.
Your fringed feet may rest them there,
And there your filmy wings may close,
But do not wound the flower so fair
That shelters you in sweet repose.
And there your filmy wings may close,
But do not wound the flower so fair
That shelters you in sweet repose.
Insect! be not like him who dares
On pity's bosom to intrude,
And then that gentle bosom tears
With baseness and ingratitude.
On pity's bosom to intrude,
And then that gentle bosom tears
With baseness and ingratitude.
10
TO THE LADY-BIRD.
Oh! Lady-bird, Lady-bird, why dost thou roamSo far from thy comrades, so distant from home?
Why dost thou, who can revel all day in the air,
Who the sweets of the grove and the garden can share,
In the fold of a leaf, who can form thee a bower,
And a palace enjoy in the tube of a flower;
Ah, why, simple Lady-bird, why dost thou venture,
The dwellings of man so familiar to enter?
Too soon you may find, that your trust is misplac'd,
When by some cruel child you are wantonly chas'd,
And your bright scarlet coat, so bespotted with black,
May be torn by his barbarous hands from your back.
And your smooth jetty corselet be pierced with a pin,
That the urchin may see you in agonies spin;
For his bosom is shut against pity's appeals,
He has never been taught that a Lady-bird feels.
Ah, then you'll regret you were tempted to rove,
From the tall climbing hop, or the hazle's thick grove,
And will fondly remember each arbour and tree,
Where lately you wander'd contented and free;
Then fly, simple Lady-bird!—fly away home,
No more from your nest, and your children to roam.
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[Queen of fragrance, lovely Rose]
EMILY.
Queen of fragrance, lovely Rose,
Thy soft and silken leaves disclose:
The winter's past, the tempests fly,
Soft gales breathe gently through the sky;
The silver dews and genial showers
Call forth a blooming waste of flowers;
And lo! thy beauties now unclose,
Queen of fragrance, lovely Rose!
Yet, ah! how soon that bloom is flown,
How soon thy blushing charms are gone!
To-day thy crimson buds unveil,
To-morrow scatter'd in the gale.
Ah! human bliss as swiftly goes,
And fades like thee, thou lovely Rose.
Thy soft and silken leaves disclose:
The winter's past, the tempests fly,
Soft gales breathe gently through the sky;
The silver dews and genial showers
Call forth a blooming waste of flowers;
And lo! thy beauties now unclose,
Queen of fragrance, lovely Rose!
Yet, ah! how soon that bloom is flown,
How soon thy blushing charms are gone!
To-day thy crimson buds unveil,
To-morrow scatter'd in the gale.
Ah! human bliss as swiftly goes,
And fades like thee, thou lovely Rose.
13
THE SNAIL.
To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall,
The snail sticks fast, nor fears to fall,
As if he grew there, house or all
together.
The snail sticks fast, nor fears to fall,
As if he grew there, house or all
together.
Within that house secure he hides,
When danger imminent betides
Of storm, or other harm besides,
of weather.
When danger imminent betides
Of storm, or other harm besides,
of weather.
Give but his horns the slightest touch,
His self-collecting power is such,
He shrinks into his house with much
displeasure.
His self-collecting power is such,
He shrinks into his house with much
displeasure.
Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone,
Except himself has chattels none,
Well satisfied to be his own
whole treasure.
Except himself has chattels none,
Well satisfied to be his own
whole treasure.
Thus Hermit like his life he leads
Alone, on simple viands feeds,
Nor at his humble banquet needs
attendant.
Alone, on simple viands feeds,
Nor at his humble banquet needs
attendant.
And tho' without society,
He finds 'tis pleasant to be free,
And that he's blest who need not be
dependant.
He finds 'tis pleasant to be free,
And that he's blest who need not be
dependant.
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A WALK BY THE WATER.
EMILY.
Let us walk where reeds are growing,
By the alders in the mead;
Where the crystal streams are flowing,
In whose waves the fishes feed.
By the alders in the mead;
Where the crystal streams are flowing,
In whose waves the fishes feed.
There the golden carp is laving,
With the trout, the perch, and bream;
Mark! their flexile fins are waving,
As they glance along the stream.
With the trout, the perch, and bream;
Mark! their flexile fins are waving,
As they glance along the stream.
Now they sink in deeper billows,
Now upon the surface rise;
Or from under roots of willows,
Dart to catch the water flies.
Now upon the surface rise;
Or from under roots of willows,
Dart to catch the water flies.
'Midst the reeds and pebbles hiding,
See the minnow and the roach;
Or by water-lilies gliding,
Shun with fear our near approach.
See the minnow and the roach;
Or by water-lilies gliding,
Shun with fear our near approach.
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Do not dread us timid fishes,
We have neither net nor hook;
Wanderers we, whose only wishes
Are to read in nature's book.
We have neither net nor hook;
Wanderers we, whose only wishes
Are to read in nature's book.
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INVITATION TO THE BEE.
Child of patient industry,
Little active busy bee,
Thou art out at early morn,
Just as the opening flowers are born,
Among the green and grassy meads
Where the cowslips hang their heads;
Or by hedge-rows, while the dew
Glitters on the harebell blue.—
Little active busy bee,
Thou art out at early morn,
Just as the opening flowers are born,
Among the green and grassy meads
Where the cowslips hang their heads;
Or by hedge-rows, while the dew
Glitters on the harebell blue.—
Then on eager wing art flown,
To thymy hillocks on the down;
Or to revel on the broom;
Or suck the clover's crimson bloom;
Murmuring still thou busy bee
Thy little ode to industry!
To thymy hillocks on the down;
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Or suck the clover's crimson bloom;
Murmuring still thou busy bee
Thy little ode to industry!
Go while summer suns are bright,
Take at large thy wandering flight;
Go and load thy tiny feet
With every rich and various sweet,
Cling around the flowring thorn,
Dive in the woodbine's honied horn,
Seek the wild rose that shades the dell,
Explore the foxglove's freckled bell,
Or in the heath flower's fairy cup
Drink the fragrant spirit up.
Take at large thy wandering flight;
Go and load thy tiny feet
With every rich and various sweet,
Cling around the flowring thorn,
Dive in the woodbine's honied horn,
Seek the wild rose that shades the dell,
Explore the foxglove's freckled bell,
Or in the heath flower's fairy cup
Drink the fragrant spirit up.
But when the meadows shall be mown,
And summer's garlands overblown;
Then come thou little busy bee,
And let thy homestead be with me,
There, shelter'd by thy straw-built hive,
In my garden thou shalt live,
And that garden shall supply
Thy delicious alchemy;
There for thee, in autumn, blows
The Indian pink and latest rose,
The mignonette perfumes the air,
And stocks, unfading flowers, are there.
Yet fear not when the tempests come,
And drive thee to thy waxen home,
That I shall then most treacherously
For thy honey murder thee.
And summer's garlands overblown;
Then come thou little busy bee,
And let thy homestead be with me,
There, shelter'd by thy straw-built hive,
In my garden thou shalt live,
And that garden shall supply
Thy delicious alchemy;
There for thee, in autumn, blows
The Indian pink and latest rose,
The mignonette perfumes the air,
And stocks, unfading flowers, are there.
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And drive thee to thy waxen home,
That I shall then most treacherously
For thy honey murder thee.
Ah, no!—throughout the winter drear
I'll feed thee, that another year
Thou may'st renew thy industry
Among the flowers, thou little busy bee.
I'll feed thee, that another year
Thou may'st renew thy industry
Among the flowers, thou little busy bee.
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