The glowworm’s beautiful and brilliant light,—
Whilst wandering in the silent lovely night,—
A living lantern in the darksome hours,
’Midst the green hawthorn and the wild-grown flow’rs,
For other insects of its kindred race,
Whose continent is but a little space.
The rivulet (whose distant stream is heard
Careering on and on as though it fear’d
To lose its turn into eternity[161]—
To mingle in old Neptune’s revelry,)