He tried to cry quarter! his voice would not sound,
His head ached--his throne reeled and fell;
His enemy cheered, as he came to the ground,
And cried, "King Papilio, farewell!"
His fall chased the vision--the sleeper awoke,
The wonderful dream to expound;
The lightning's bright flash from the thunder-cloud broke,
And hail-stones were rattling around.
He'd slumbered so long, that now, over his head,
The tempest's artillery rolled;
The tulip was shattered--the whirl-blast had fled,
And borne off its crimson and gold.
'Tis said, for the fall and the pelting, combined
With suppressed ebullitions of pride.
This vain son of summer no balsam could find,
But he crept under covert and died!
=The Boy and the Cricket=
At length I have thee! my brisk new-comer,
Sounding thy lay to departing summer;
And I'll take thee up from thy bed of grass,
And carry thee home to a house of glass;
Where thy slender limbs, and the faded green
Of thy close-made coat, can all be seen.
For I long to know if the cricket _sings_,
Or _plays_ the tune with his gauzy wings;--
To bring that shrill-toned pipe to light
Which kept me awake so long last night,
That I told the hours by the lazy clock,
Till I heard the crow of the noisy cock;
When, tossing and turning, at length I fell
In a sleep so strange, that the dream I'll tell.
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