Classic Poem

At noontide as Colin and Sylvia lay,
Within a cool jessamine bow'r,
A butterfly, wak'd by the heat of the day,
Was sipping the juice of each flow'r.

Near the shade of this covert a young shepherd boy
The gaudy brisk flutterer spies,
Who held it as pastime to seek and destroy
Each beautiful insect that flies.

From the lily he hunted this fly to the rose,
From the rose to the lily again,
Till weary with tracing its motions, he chose
To leave the pursuit with disdain.

Then Colin to Sylvia smilingly said,
Amyntor has follow'd you long;
From him, like the butterfly, still have you fled,
Tho' woo'd by his musical tongue.

Beware in persisting to start from his arms,
But with his fond wishes comply;
Come, take my advice; or he's pall'd with your charms,
Like the youth and the beautiful fly.

Says Sylvia, — Colin, thy simile's just,
But still to Amyntor I'm coy;
For I vow she's a simpleton blind that would trust
A swam, when he courts to destroy.