Fairy Fire-Fly

O Firefly! I have caught you fast:Don't flutter in a rage;But shine for me a little whileHere in this dainty cage.Why are you wandering so late,With your small lamp alight,When bird and bee and butterflyAre sleeping through the night?Come, tell to me a fairy tale;Amuse me while you stay;And, when it's time to go to bed,You shall safely fly away.

I'll tell my own sad story, child,Here shining in your net;And, though I fly away so soon,I pray you, don't forget—I was a lovely fairy once,Blithe as an early lark;And in my little bosom shoneA beautiful, bright spark:That was my elfin spirit, dear;And, while I lived aright,It was to me a guiding star,To lead me to the light.

I should have loved the blessèd sun.And tried to follow him;But, no, I turned my face away,And my bright spark grew dim.My daily duties were not done;I did not tend the flowers;I did not help the honey-beesImprove their shining hours;No baby butterfly I taughtTo spread its tender wing;No young bird ever learned of meThe airy songs we sing.I left my playmates, one and all,So innocent, so gay,—I would not listen to their words.But coldly turned away.All day I slept, with folded wings,Lulled by the singing brook.Where tall ferns made a shady tent,And guarded my still nook.But, when the stars came out, I woke;I loved the meadows damp;I liked to hear the cricket sing;To watch the glow-worm's lamp.The round-eyed owl, and beetle fierce,The hungry, buzzing gnat,The giddy moth, the croaking frog,And stealthy-wingèd bat.These were the friends I freely choseThese, and the primrose pale;I did not even seek to knowA star or nightingale.I turned away from lovely things,I revelled in the dark,And day by day more faintly shoneMy precious bosom-spark,Until, at last, it came to beThis feeble, fitful light.And my dim eyes no power hadTo see, except by night.

My fairy form passed quite away;Alas! I'd gladly die,For 'tis my punishment to beA wandering firefly.Ah! now I long for all I've lost:My mates are flown away;The birds and bees I pine to see,But cannot seek by day.I haunt the flowers all the night.Hoping a home to win,—The doors are shut: all are asleep:I knock; none let me in.I'm tired of the friends I made;I hate the teasing gnat,The hooting owl, the cricket shrill.The beetle, and the bat.My only mates are the poor moths;They seek and love the light.Though they, like me, sleep all day long,And only fly by nightOnce they were butterflies, you know,And floated in the sun;But they are doomed to expiateThe wrongs which they have done,By madly longing for the shineThat blinds their feeble eye,Yet draws them, like a dreadful spell,To flutter, burn, and die.O little child! be warned in time;Guard well your bosom spark,Else it will slowly fade away,And leave you in the dark.Feed it with all things fair and good:Then gloomy clouds may roll,But cannot shadow in your life,—Tis sunshine of the soul.