TO A MUSQUITO. FAIR insect! that, with threadlike legs spread out, In pitiless ears full many a plaintive thing, Unwillingly, I own, and, what is worse, Full angrily men hearken to thy plaint, Thou gettest many a brush, and many a curse, I call thee stranger, for the town, I ween, For Titan was thy sire, and fair was she 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: 188 TO A MUSQUITO. The south wind breathed to waft thee on thy way, And calm, afar, the city spires arose, Thence didst thou hear the distant hum of men, And as its grateful odours met thy nose, Didst seem to smell thy native marsh again; 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; And fresh as morn, on many a cheek and chin, Bloomed the bright blood through the transparent skin. Oh, these were sights to touch an anchorite! What say'st 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→→→→ But shun the sacrilege another time. TO A MUSQUITO. 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; No angry hand shall rise to brush thy wings. 189 "I BROKE THE SPELL THAT HELD ME LONG." I BROKE the spell that held me long, Shall waste my prime of years no more, I broke the spell--nor deemed its power Ah, thoughtless! how could I forget Still came and lingered on my sight Of flowers and streams the bloom and light, And glory of the stars and sun; And these and poetry are one. They, ere the world had held me long, Recalled me to the love of song. THE CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS. I WOULD not always reason. The straight path Wearies us with its never-varying lines, And we grow melancholy. I would make The mazes of the pleasant wilderness Around me. Of men and their affairs, and to shed down Kind influence. Lo! their orbs burn more bright, |