It is very much as if we should have
our teeth pulled out, or our hair torn out by the roots. When we think
of the shock and pain, and of the helplessness that will surely follow,
catching butterflies no longer seems an innocent pleasure.
TO A BUTTERFLY.
Poor harmless insect, thither fly,
And life's short hour enjoy;
'Tis all thou hast, and why should I
That little all destroy?
Why should my tyrant will suspend
A life by wisdom giv'n,
Or sooner bid thy being end
Than was designed by Heav'n?
To bask upon the sunny bed,
The damask flowers to kiss,
To range along the bending shade
Is all thy life of bliss.
Then flutter still thy silken wings,
In rich embroidery drest,
And sport upon the gale that flings
Sweet odors from his vest.
JANE TAYLOR.
CUNNING BEE.
Said a little wandering maiden
To a bee with honey laden,
"Bee, at all the flowers you work,
Yet in some does poison lurk."
"That I know, my little maiden,"
Said the bee with honey laden;
"But the poison I forsake,
And the honey only take."
"Cunning bee with honey laden,
That is right," replied the maiden;
"So will I, from all I meet,
Only draw the good and sweet."
ANON.
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