In weepers and scarfs, came the Butterflies all,
And six of their numbers supported the pall:
And the Spider came there, in his mourning so black:
But the fire of the Glow-worm soon frighten’d him back.
The Grub left his nut-shell, to join the sad throng,
And slowly led with him the Book-worm along,
Who wept his poor neighbour’s unfortunate doom,
And wrote these few lines, to be plac’d on his tomb:—