Song LXXI. the Grasshopper

Little insect that on high, On a spire of springing grass, Tipsy with the morning dew, Free from care thy life doth pass:

So may'st thou, companion sole, Please the lonely mower's ear, Where no treach'rous winding snake. Lurks beneath to work thy fear.

At in chirping plaintive notes, Then the hasty sun doth chide, And thy murm'ring music floats, Summer's charming to abide.

If a pleasant day arrive, Soon a pleasant day is gone, While we reach to seize the prize, Swift the winged bliss is flown.

Pain and sorrow dwell with us, Pleasure scarce a moment reigns, Thou thyself find'st summer short, But the winter long remains.