I asked my mother, who o’er me bent,
What all this show of the Seasons meant? 
She said ’twas a picture of Life, I saw;
And the useful moral myself must draw!

I woke, and found that thy song was stilled,
And the sun’s bright beams my room had filled! 
But I think, my Cricket, I long shall keep
In mind the dream of my morning sleep!

=Fanny Spy=

Lucy, Lucy, come away! 
  Never climb for things so high. 
Don’t you know, the other day,
  What fell out with Fanny Spy?

Fanny spied, a loaf of cake,
  Wisely set above her reach;
Yet did Fanny think to make
  In its tempting side a breach.

When she thought the family
  Out of sight and hearing too,
Forth a polished table she
  Quickly to the closet drew.

First, she stepped upon a chair;
  Then the table—­then a shelf;
Thinking she securely there
  Might, unnoticed, help herself.

Then she seized a heavy slice,
  Leaving in the loaf a cleft
Wider than a dozen mice,
  Feasted there all night, had left.

Stepping backward, Fanny slid
  On the table’s polished face:—­
Down she came, with dish and lid,
  Silver—­glass—­and china vase!

In, from every room they rushed,
  Father—­mother—­servants—­all,
Thinking all the closet crushed,
  By the racket and the fall.

’Mid the uproar of the house,
  Fanny, in her shame and fright,
Wished herself indeed a mouse,
  But to run and hide from sight.

Yet was she to learn how vain,
  Poor and worthless, is a wish. 
Wishing could not lull her pain,
  Hide her shame, nor mend a dish.

There she lay, but could not speak;
  For a tooth had made a pass
Through her lip; and to her cheek
  Clung a piece of shivered glass.

From her altered features gushed
  Rolling tears, and streaming gore;
While, untasted still, and crushed,
  Lay her cake upon the floor.

Then the doctor hurried in: 
  Fanny at his needle swooned,
As he held her crimson chin,
  And together stitched the wound.

Now her face a scar must wear,
  Ever till her dying day! 
Questioned how it happened there,
  What can blushing Fanny say?

=Sudden Elevation; or The Empaled Butterfly=

“Ho!” said the Butterfly, “here am I,
 Up in the air, who used to lie
 Flat on the ground, for the passers by
   To treat with utter neglect! 
 But none will suspect that I am the same;
 With a bright, new coat, and a different name;
The piece of nothingness whence I came
   In me they’ll never detect.

“That horrible night in the chrysalis,
 Which brought me at length to a day like this,
 In a form of beauty—­a state of bliss,
   Was little enough to give
 For freedom to range from bower to bower,
 To flirt with the buds, and flatter the flower,
 And bask in the sunbeams hour by hour,
   The envy of all that live.