A FABLE, IN VERSE.
A Sprightly Boy, one Summer's Day,
Perceived a Butterfly so gay,
That all his Wishes it engrossed,
To each surrounding Object lost:
He left his Fellows, and pursued,
With sparkling Eyes, the favourite Good.
Now on the Rose it seem'd to rest,
And now to court the Violet's breast,
From Flow'r to Flow'r incessant flying,
Inviting still, and still denying.
Beneath his Hand, beneath his Hat,
He often thought he had it pat;
The Violet-bed, the Myrtle-sprig,
Had made his little Heart grow big.
At last, with Joy he saw it venture
Within a Tulip's Bell to enter,
And snatch'd it with ecstatic rapture.
But what, alas! was all his Capture?
A lifeless Insect, like a Worm,
Without one Grace in all its Form!
With Rage and Disappointment stung,
The Reptile to the Earth he flung;
Yet fond Remembrance fill'd his Eye
With Tears,—and Passion heav'd a Sigh.
Reason inform'd the Creature's Breast,
And thus the Mourner it address'd:
"I am deceitful Pleasure's Shade;
A Butterfly with Joy surveyed
By every inexperienced Child,
Till he, like you, has been beguiled.
Learn, therefore, that this Insect bright,
The Worm alluring to the Sight;
This airy Trifler, ever smiling,
Still promising, and still beguiling;
All glorious, when at Distance view'd,
And always pleasing while pursued,
Will never yield what you desire;
And, grasp'd with Ardour, will expire."
F I N I S.