Nor far had gone before he found
A human skeleton on the ground;
The appalled discoverer with a sigh,
Looks round to learn the history.
From those abrupt and perilous rocks
The man had fallen, that place of fear!
At length upon the shepherd's mind
It breaks, and all is clear:
He instantly recalled the name,
And who he was, and whence he came;
Remembered, too, the very day
On which the traveller passed this way.
But hear a wonder, for whose sake
This lamentable tale I tell!
A lasting monument of words
This wonder merits well.
The dog, which still was hovering nigh,
Repeating the same timid cry,
This dog had been, through three months' space,
A dweller in that savage place.
Yes, proof was plain, that since the day
When this lamented traveller died,
The dog had watched about the spot,
Or by his master's side:
How nourished here through such long time,
He knows, who gave that love sublime;
And gave that strength of feeling, great
Above all human estimate.
THE BUTTERFLY'S BIRTHDAY.
THE shades of night were scarcely fled, The air was mild, the winds were still; And slow the slanting sunbeams spread O'er wood and lawn, o'er heath and hill.
From fleecy clouds of pearly hue
Had dropt a short but balmy shower,
That hung like gems of morning dew
On every tree and every flower.
And from the blackbird's mellow throat
Was poured so loud and long a swell,
As echoed with responsive note
From mountain-side and shadowy dell.
When bursting forth to life and light,
The offspring of enraptured May,
The Butterfly, on pinions bright,
Launched in full splendour on the day.
Her slender form, ethereal light,
Her velvet-textured wings infold;
With all the rainbow's colours bright,
And dropt with spots of burnished gold.
Trembling with joy awhile she stood,
And felt the sun's enlivening ray;
Drank from the skies the vital flood,
And wondered at her plumage gay!
THE BUTTERFLY'S BIRTHDAY.
And balanced oft her broidered wings,
Through fields of air prepared to sail;
Then on her venturous journey springs,
And floats along the rising gale.
Go, child of pleasure, range the fields,
Taste all the joy that spring can give,
Partake what bounteous summer yields,
And live while yet 'tis thine to live.
Go, sip the rose's fragrant dew,
The lily's honeyed cup explore,
From flower to flower the search renew,
And rifle all the woodbine's store.
And let me trace thy vagrant flight,
Thy moments, too, of short repose,
And mark thee then with fresh delight
Thy golden pinions ope and close.
But, hark! while thus I musing stand,
Pours on the gale an airy note,
And breathing from a viewless band,
Soft silvery tones around me float!
They cease; but still a voice I hear:
"And thou, believer, too wilt die,
Thy hour of rest approaches near,
But 'tis a sound of hope and joy.
Then, start not! on thy closing eyes
Another day shall still unfold,
A sun of milder radiance rise,
A happier age of joys untold.
Shall the poor worm that meets thy sight,
The humblest form in nature's train,
Thus rise in new-born lustre bright,
And yet the emblem teach in vain?
Ah! where were once her golden eyes,
Her glittering wings of purple pride,
Concealed beneath a rude disguise,
A shapeless mass to earth allied.
Like thee, the humble insect lived,
Like thee it toiled, like thee it spun,
Like thine, its closing hour arrived,
Its labour ceased, its web was done.
And shalt thou, numbered with the dead,
No happier state of being know?
And shall no future morrow shed
On thee a beam of brighter glow?
Is this the bound of power divine,
To animate an insect frame?
Or shall not He who moulded thine,
Wake at His will the vital flame?
Go, Christian! in thy embryo state
Enough to know to thee is given;
Go, and the joyful truth relate,
Frail child of earth! high heir of heaven!"
TYPES of eternal rest-fair buds of bliss
In heavenly flowers unfolding week by week-
The next world's gladness imaged forth in this—
Days of whose worth the Christian's heart can speak—
Eternity in time-the steps by which
We climb to future ages-the lamps that light
Man through his darker days, and thought enrich,
Yielding redemption for the week's dull flight.
Wakeners of prayer in man-his resting bowers
As on he journeys in the narrow way,
Where, Eden-like, Jehovah's walking hours
Are waited for as in the cool of day.
Days fixed by God for intercourse with dust,
To raise our thoughts, and purify our powers-
Periods appointed to renew our trust—
A gleam of glory after six days' showers.
Foretastes of heaven on earth-pledges of joy
Surpassing fancy's flights, and fiction's story—
The preludes of a feast that cannot cloy,
And the bright out-courts of immortal glory!
HENRY VAUGHEN, 1680.
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