TO A MUSQUITO. FAIR insect! that, with threadlike legs spread out, And blood-extracting bill and filmy wing, Does murmur, as thou slowly sail'st about, In pitiless ears full many a plaintive thing, And tell how little our large veins should bleed, Would we but yield them to thy bitter need. Unwillingly, I own, and, what is worse, Full angrily men hearken to thy plaint; Thou gettest many a brush, and many a curse, For saying thou art gaunt, and starved, and faint: Even the old beggar, while he asks for food, I call thee stranger, for the town, I ween, The ocean nymph that nursed thy infancy. Beneath the rushes was thy cradle swung, And when, at length, thy gauzy wings grew strong, Abroad to gentle airs their folds were flung, Rose in the sky and bore thee soft along; The south wind breathed to waft thee on thy way, Calm rose afar the city spires, and thence Came the deep murmur of its throng of men, And as its grateful odours met thy sense, They seemed the perfumes of thy native fen. Fair lay its crowded streets, and at the sight Thy tiny song grew shriller with delight. At length thy pinions fluttered in Broadway— Shone through the snowy veils like stars through mist; Sure these were sights to touch an anchorite! As if it brought the memory of pain: What sayst thou-slanderer!-rouge makes thee sick? And China bloom at best is sorry food? And Rowland's Kalydor, if laid on thick, Poisons the thirsty wretch that bores for blood? Go! 'twas a just reward that met thy crime- That bloom was made to look at, not to touch; As dared, like thee, most impiously to bite. Thou'rt welcome to the town-but why come here And thin will be the banquet drawn from me. Try some plump alderman, and suck the blood Fix thy light pump and press thy freckled feet: There corks are drawn, and the red vintage flows Shall tempt thee, as thou flittest round the brow; And when the hour of sleep its quiet brings, No angry hand shall rise to brush thy wings. LINES ON REVISITING THE COUNTRY. I STAND upon my native hills again, Broad, round, and green, that in the summer sky While deep the sunless glens are scooped between, A lisping voice and glancing eyes are near, For I have taught her; with delighted eye, And clouds along its blue abysses rolled,- |