My kite! my kite! how sad to think
She flew so high, so soon to sink!"
"Be this," the mother said, and smiled,
"A lesson to thee, simple child!
And when by fancies vain and wild,
As that which cost the kite that's lost,
The busy brain again is crossed,
Of shining vapor then beware,
Nor trust thy joys to fickle air.
"I have a darling treasure, too,
That sometimes would, by slipping through
My guardian hands, the way pursue,
From which, more tight than thou thy kite,
I hold my jewel, new and bright,
Lest he should stray without a guide,
To drown my hopes in sorrow's tide!"
=A Summer-Morning Rumble=
Oh! the happy Summer hours.
With their butterflies and flowers,
And the birds among the bowers
Sweetly singing;--
With the spices from the trees,
Vines, and lilies, while the bees
Come floating on the breeze,
Honey bringing!
All the East was rosy red,
When we woke and left our bed;
And to gather flowers we sped,
Gay and early.
Every clover-top was wet,
And the spider's silken net
With a thousand dew-drops set,
Pure and pearly.
With their modest eyes of blue
Were the violets peeping through
Tufts of grasses, where they grew,
Full of beauty,
At the lamb in snowy white,
O'er the meadow bounding light,
And the crow just taking flight,
Grave and sooty.
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