LINES WRITTEN OPPOSITE A DRAWING OF A PARROT AND BUTTERFLY. BRIGHT creatures are ye, bird and butterfly, The joyous progeny of the breeding sun, Who worked below, his "'prentice hand to try," On topaz, ruby, and carnelian. Then, breathing upwards, first essayed the rose, Then would the gilded fly its wings disclose, Sweet words, by sweeter lips made doubly sweet. "When Messrs. Hawes and Fellowes ascended Mont Blanc in July, 1827, they observed a butterfly near the summit. Mr. C. Shewell saw two crimson moths at nearly the same elevation." WHO would have thought, upon this icy cliff, Nor foot of chamois sounded, Where scarce the soaring hippogriff To this exalted Thule, He carried the thought of a metaphysician, Or theory of an electrician;— Who would have dream'd of seeing thee, Softest of summer's progeny? What art thou seeking? What hast thou lost? That before the throne of eternal frost Thou comest to spread the crimson wing, Thou pretty fluttering thing? Art thou too fine for the world below? Or hast thou lived out thy joy and thy spring? And hast thou sworn To live forlorn An anchorite in a cave of snow, Or Palmer lonely wandering? Or dost thou fancy, as many have done, Than the gardens of bloom and the fields of spice? Didst thou think that the bright orb his mystery shrouds In a comfortless mantle of sleet-driving clouds ? Alas! he never loved this place; It bears no token of his grace; But many a mark of the tempest's lash, And many a brand of the sulphurous flash. 'Tis better to dwell among corn-fields and flowers, Or even the weeds of this world of ours, Than to leave the green vale and the sunny slope, Flutter he, flutter he, high as he will, A butterfly is but a butterfly still. And 'tis better for us to remain where we are, Than lonely to stray to the heights above, Where there's nothing to do, and nothing to love. THE NIGHTINGALE. A MIGHTY bard there was, in joy of youth, For Philomela's ancient tale of ruth, And never heard it, all the long night long; * See Coleridge's Poems, Vol. i., p. 211. Sunday, Sept. 27th, 1840. |