Classic Poem

A FABLE .

IN THE MANNER OF THE LATE MR. GAY .

A tender Miss, whom mother's care
Bred up in wholesome country air,
Far from the follies of the town,
Alike untaught to smile or frown;
Her ear unus'd to flattery's praise,
Unknown in woman's wicked ways;
Her tongue from modish tattle free,
Undipp'd in scandal and bohea;
Her genuine form and native grace
Were strangers to a looking-glass:
Nor cards she dealt, nor flirted fan,
And valued not quadrille or man;
But simple liv'd, just as you know
Miss Chloe did — some weeks ago.
As now the pretty Innocent
Walk'd forth to taste the early scent,
She tripp'd about the murmuring stream,
That oft had lull'd her thoughtless dream.
The morning sweet, the air serene,
A thousand flowers adorn'd the scene;
The birds rejoicing round appear
To choose their consorts for the year;
Her heart was light, and full of play,
And, like herself, all nature gay.
On such a day, as Sages sing,
A Butterfly was on the wing;
From bank to bank, from bloom to bloom,
He stretch'd the gold-bespangled plume:
Now skims along, and now alights
As smell allures, or grace invites;
Now the violet's freshness sips;
Now kiss'd the rose's scarlet lips;
Becomes anon the daisy's guest;
Then press'd the lily's snowy breast;
Nor long to one vouchsafes a stay,
But just salutes, and flies away.
The virgin saw, with rapture fir'd;
She saw, and what she saw desir'd,
The shining wings, and starry eyes,
And burns to seize the living prize:
Her beating breast and glowing face
Betray her native love of dress,
And all the woman full exprest
First flutters in her little breast:
Ensnar'd by empty outward show,
She swift pursues the insect-beau;
O'er gay parterrers she runs in haste,
Nor heeds the garden's flowery waste.
Long as the sun, with genial pow'r
Increasing, warm'd the sultry hour,
The Nymph o'er every border flew,
And kept the shining game in view:
But when, soft breathing through the trees,
With coolness came the evening-breeze;
As hovering o'er the tulip's pride
He hung with wing diversified,
Caught in the hollow of her hand,
She held the captive at command,
Fluttering in vain to be releas'd,
He thus the gentle nymph address'd: —
" Loose, generous virgin, loose my cham;
From me what glory canst thou gain?
A vain, unquiet, glittering thing,
My only boast a gorgeous wing;
From flower to flower I idly stray,
The trifler of a summer's day:
Then let me not in vain implore,
But leave me free again to soar.
His words the little charmer mov'd;
She the poor trembler's suit approv'd.
His gaudy wings he then extends,
And flutters on her fingers' ends:
From thence he spoke, as you shall hear,
In strains well worth a woman's ear: —
" When now thy young and tender age
Is pure, and heedless to engage:
When in thy free and open mien
No self-important air is seen;
Unknowing all, to all unknown,
Thou liv'st, or prais'd or blam'd by none.
But when, unfolding by degrees
The woman's fond desire to please,
Studions to heave the artful sigh,
Mistress of the tongue and eye,
Thou sett'st thy little charms to show,
And sport'st familiar with the beau;
Forsaking then the simple plain,
To mingle with the courtly train,
Thou in the midnight ball shalt see
Things apparell'd just like me;
Who round and round, without design,
Tinsell'd in empty lustre shine:
As dancing through the spacions dome,
From fair to fair the friskers roam,
If charm'd with the embroider'd pride,
The victim of a gay out-side,
From place to place, as me just now,
The glittering gewgaw you pursue,
What mighty prize shall crown thy pains?
A Butterfly is all thy gains!"