1. TO A BUTTERFLY.

Stay near me—do not take thy flight! A little longer stay in sight! Much converse do I find in Thee, Historian of my Infancy! Float near me; do not yet depart! Dead times revive in thee: Thou bring'st, gay Creature as thou art! A solemn image to my heart, My Father's Family!

Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days, The time, when in our childish plays My sister Emmeline and I Together chaced the Butterfly! A very hunter did I rush Upon the prey:—with leaps and springs I follow'd on from brake to bush; But She, God love her! feared to brush The dust from off its wings.

The Sun has long been set: The Stars are out by twos and threes; The little Birds are piping yet Among the bushes and trees; There's a Cuckoo, and one or two thrushes; And a noise of wind that rushes, With a noise of water that gushes; And the Cuckoo's sovereign cry Fills all the hollow of the sky!

Who would go "parading" In London, and "masquerading," On such a night of June? With that beautiful soft half-moon, And all these innocent blisses, On such a night as this is!

O Nightingale! thou surely art A Creature of a fiery heart— These notes of thine they pierce, and pierce; Tumultuous harmony and fierce! Thou sing'st as if the God of wine Had help'd thee to a Valentine; A song in mockery and despite Of shades, and dews, and silent Night, And steady bliss, and all the Loves Now sleeping in these peaceful groves!

I heard a Stockdove sing or say His homely tale, this very day. His voice was buried among trees, Yet to be come at by the breeze: He did not cease; but coo'd—and coo'd; And somewhat pensively he woo'd: He sang of love with quiet blending, Slow to begin, and never ending; Of serious faith, and inward glee; That was the Song, the Song for me!

My heart leaps up when I behold A Rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a Man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is Father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.