Fable VI The Butterfly and Boy
’Twas on a day serene and fair,
The sun was bright and æther clear,
The rocking winds were lull’d to rest,
And ev’ry murmuring gale supprest;
When, tempted by th’ alluring heat,
A Fly forsook her dark retreat
To taste the sweetness of the skies,
And tinge her wings with various dyes;
Restless she rov’d her narrow tour,
And borrow’d paint from ev’ry flow’r;
Till, deck’d with all the insect grace,
She sparkled fairest of her race.
In all her splendour, pomp, and pride,
The winged-gem a Boy espy’d;
Who, pleas’d to see how bright it shone,
Resolv’d to make the prize his own;
And straight with speed began to trace
The gilded Fly from place to place:
But, conscious of some danger near,
The Butterfly her course would steer,
Now high, then low, now here, then there,
To balk the aim, or shun the blow
She justly dreaded from her foe.
The Lad, still eager to pursue
The Fly that always kept in view,
Thro’ many a lane and meadow went,
His soul so on the prize was bent,
Undaunted ran from morn to noon,
To gain the heart-enchanting boon.
At length, when sweat bedew’d his face,
And almost weary of the chase,
The Fly in evil hour is caught,
And homewards by the conqueror brought;
Who vainly hop’d, the glorious spoil
Would more than recompense his toil;
But while, with pleasure and surprise,
Her form and beauty feast his eyes,
The Fly escapes, and mounts the skies,
With rallied force augments her flight,
And quick evades his keenest sight;
Then he, deluded youth! gave o’er
All hope to find the booty more.
Enrag’d condemns his cruel fate,
And wept his folly—but too late.
Thus foolish mortals waste their days,
In seeking pleasures, wealth, and praise;
They hunt for honours, titles, fame,
And risk their souls to gain a—name;
Chase every glitt’ring toy they spy,
Just as the Lad pursu’d the Fly,
And e’er they grasp the bauble—die.