 | Metrical Effusions |  |
150
THE BUTTERFLY'S DEATH.
Fair evening spread her mantle grey,
The setting sun with golden beam
Had now retir'd, and Cynthia's ray
Was glimmering o'er the silent stream.
The setting sun with golden beam
Had now retir'd, and Cynthia's ray
Was glimmering o'er the silent stream.
While many a planet's brilliant light,
Resplendent in the azure sky,
Proclaim'd the majesty of night,
And touch'd each thrilling nerve of joy.
Resplendent in the azure sky,
Proclaim'd the majesty of night,
And touch'd each thrilling nerve of joy.
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Enraptur'd with the solemn scene,
On Deben's banks I musing stood;
Survey'd the meadows' verdant green,
Or stars reflected in the flood.
On Deben's banks I musing stood;
Survey'd the meadows' verdant green,
Or stars reflected in the flood.
When, mid the stillness so profound,
A plaintive cry alarm'd my ear,—
I gaz'd with eagerness around,
But look'd in vain, for none was near.
A plaintive cry alarm'd my ear,—
I gaz'd with eagerness around,
But look'd in vain, for none was near.
At length bright Cynthia's silvery ray
Disclos'd to view a piteous sight;
A Butterfly expiring lay,
And broke the silence of the night.
Disclos'd to view a piteous sight;
A Butterfly expiring lay,
And broke the silence of the night.
Attentive to the murmuring sound,
The poet's fancy found a tongue;
Assist, ye sylphs! who hover'd round,
To frame those dying words in song.
The poet's fancy found a tongue;
Assist, ye sylphs! who hover'd round,
To frame those dying words in song.
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Adieu! it cried, with trembling voice,
Adieu! ye woods, and vallies gay!
No more, created to rejoice,
Shall I your varied charms survey.
Adieu! ye woods, and vallies gay!
No more, created to rejoice,
Shall I your varied charms survey.
No more, on fluttering pinion borne,
Shall fickle fancy guide my flight;
To taste the fragrant sweets of morn—
Ecstatic season of delight!
Shall fickle fancy guide my flight;
To taste the fragrant sweets of morn—
Ecstatic season of delight!
How short the time since lovely May,
Array'd in robe of vernal green,
Exulting saw my natal day,
And smil'd auspicious on the scene.
Array'd in robe of vernal green,
Exulting saw my natal day,
And smil'd auspicious on the scene.
Where Mersey's waters ceaseless flow,
By classic Allerton's domain;
Where vivid beams of science glow,
And Roscoe wakes the tuneful strain:
By classic Allerton's domain;
Where vivid beams of science glow,
And Roscoe wakes the tuneful strain:
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'Twas there to light and life I sprung,
With joy survey'd this beauteous earth;
His graceful lyre the poet strung,
And hail'd the glories of my birth.
With joy survey'd this beauteous earth;
His graceful lyre the poet strung,
And hail'd the glories of my birth.
Too soon I left those peaceful bowers,
“Where elegance with splendour vies;”
My fancy painted lovelier flowers
Expanding under brighter skies.
“Where elegance with splendour vies;”
My fancy painted lovelier flowers
Expanding under brighter skies.
Enchanted by the varied grace
Of violet blue, or primrose pale,
With eager joy I urg'd the chace
O'er many a hill, and many a dale.
Of violet blue, or primrose pale,
With eager joy I urg'd the chace
O'er many a hill, and many a dale.
At length I reach'd your barbarous shore,
A thoughtless urchin mark'd my flight;
Pursued the prize with all his power;
I sunk exhausted with my fright.
A thoughtless urchin mark'd my flight;
Pursued the prize with all his power;
I sunk exhausted with my fright.
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My cruel foe, the prize once gain'd,
Which in pursuit had charm'd his eye,
My rifled beauties soon disdain'd,
And left me here alone to die.
Which in pursuit had charm'd his eye,
My rifled beauties soon disdain'd,
And left me here alone to die.
Yet, Minstrel! ere I die, one truth
From me shall claim thy simple strain;
Though told in vain to blooming youth,
Still teach the lesson once again.
From me shall claim thy simple strain;
Though told in vain to blooming youth,
Still teach the lesson once again.
The fairest form, the loveliest face,
The hand of death must soon destroy;
If void of every mental grace,
What better than a Butterfly?
The hand of death must soon destroy;
If void of every mental grace,
What better than a Butterfly?
But beauty's charms, with virtue crown'd,
By taste refin'd, with sense inspir'd,
May shed a lasting glory round,
By all belov'd, by all admir'd.
By taste refin'd, with sense inspir'd,
May shed a lasting glory round,
By all belov'd, by all admir'd.
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Nor shall the awful gloom of death
Obscure the brilliant lustre given;
That form on earth depriv'd of breath,
Shall once more shine a Saint in Heaven.
Obscure the brilliant lustre given;
That form on earth depriv'd of breath,
Shall once more shine a Saint in Heaven.
The authour is well acquainted with the various merits of those elaborate and beautiful poems, “The Butterfly's Birth,” and “The Butterfly's Ball;” and therefore entreats the candour of his readers for this humble imitation. Whatsoever may be thought of the attempt, let it be imputed to any other motive than that of aspiring to reach the excellence of a Roscoe.
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