When evening closes Nature's eye,
The glow-worm lights her little spark
To captivate her favorite fly
And tempt the rover through the dark.
The Glow-worm. J. MONTGOMERY.
Ye living lamps, by whose dear light
The nightingale does sit so late;
And studying all the summer night,
Her matchless songs does meditate.
The Mower to the Glow-worm. A. MARVEL.
Where the katydid works her chromatic reed on the walnut-tree
over the well.
Leaves of Grass, Pt. XXXVIII. W. WHITMAN.
What gained we, little moth? Thy ashes,
Thy one brief parting pang may show:
And withering thoughts for soul that dashes,
From deep to deep, are but a death more slow.
Tragedy of the Night-Moth. T. CARLYLE.
The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine!
Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.
Essay on Man, Epistle I. A. POPE.
Much like a subtle spider, which doth sit
In middle of her web, which spreadeth wide:
If aught do touch the utmost thread of it,
She feels it instantly on every side.
Immortality of the Soul: Feeling. SIR J. DAVIES.
INSTRUCTION.
'Tis education forms the common mind:
Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclined.
Moral Essays, Epistle I. A. POPE.
Men must be taught as if you taught them not,
And things unknown proposed as things forgot.
Essay on Criticism. A. POPE.
Most wretched men
Are cradled into poetry by wrong;
They learn in suffering what they teach in song.
Julian and Maddalo. P.B. SHELLEY.