and joyous glee;
Pursuing, o'er the sparkling lawn,
The insect in its airy flight,
Which still eludes, but tempting on
From flower to flower, with plumage bright,
The hand that woos to stay its flight--
Till soaring high, on pinions wild
It leaves the charm'd and tearful child.

One maid there was, divinely fair,
Whose cheeks, beneath her peerless eyes,
Bloomed like the roses, rich and rare,
That yield perfume to summer skies;
Her shining locks of silky hair
Hung round her neck like grapes of gold,
And o'er her snowy bosom roll'd,
Hiding the blush that mantled there.

The brightest of the fairy throng,
She led the dancing group along
Through tangled brakes and fretted bowers,
Where grew the richest, rarest flowers,
That wooed the bee to banquet there,
Or yielded sweets to Summer air.
But she who moved with elfin pace,
And taught the infant throng to play,
Raised to heaven her cherub face,
While that bright celestial ray,
Which halos the throne of glory round,
Illumed her azure, orient eye,
That seemed to penetrate the sky.
Bending her gaze upon the ground,
Her gentle bosom heaved a sigh,
And anxious faces press around,
While pearls of pity dim each eye,
As tho' they'd weep again to rest
The troubled spirit of that breast.

"Weep not for me!" the cherub said,
While o'er her seraph beauty played
A smile like evening's parting beam,
That sparkles o'er the glassy stream,
Or lingers on a lucid lake--
Whose dimpling wave the zephyrs break.
"Far thro' yon skies, where orient day
Is shedding his last lingering ray,
Bright angels beckon me away;--
I go--I go--a last farewell!"
And as she spoke around her fell,
From heaven, a bright celestial ray,
Whose lustre dimm'd the light of day;
And 'mid that heavenly blaze unfold
Her glittering pinions tipp'd with gold.
While strains of sweet unearthly sound
Awoke their dulcet chime around,
She soared away on wings of light,
Like sparkling meteor of the night;
Still lessening, as she further drew
Amid the ether of heavenly blue,
Till lost within a blazing star
That above the horizon shown--
As if from Paradise a car
'Twere sent to bear the cherub home.

No more that happy throng is rending,
With gladsome shouts the summer air,
Nor songs of love to heaven ascending,
From hearts that know no guile nor care;
But on each peerless infant brow
The gloom of care is settling now;
While passion madly fires each eye,
And swells e