ELEGY
ON
A
HUMMING-BIRD
.
WRITTEN
IN
A
FLOWER-GARDEN
.
BY
—
.
A
Humming-Bird
,
by
Nature
led
,
On
Nature's
bounteous
honey
fed
;
In
every
flower
beheld
a
feast
,
And
every
sip
her
charms
increas'd
:
Her
plumage
various
,
gaudy
,
bright
,
Surpass'd
Aurora's
radiant
light
;
Tho'
burnish'd
o'er
with
golden
rays
,
As
drest
in
Ariosto's
lays
.
O
had
you
seen
her
glowing
breast
,
Which
every
tint
by
turns
exprest
,
Succeeding
tints
the
past
renewing
,
You
had
wish'd
to
be
for
ever
viewing
.
But
,
sweet
inconstant
!
she
would
fly
From
flower
to
flower
,
and
foil
the
eye
;
Each
motion
giving
something
new
,
No
sooner
seen
than
vanish'd
too
.
One
morn
on
murmuring
wing
suspended
,
She
to
those
well-known
pinks
descended
;
Here
hung
a
moment
,
sipt
the
dew
,
And
elsewhere
,
gaily
wanton
,
flew
.
Her
little
crimson
pinions
play'd
,
As
thro'
th'
enamell'd
plain
she
stray'd
;
By
every
fragrant
flower
invited
;
Which
to
delight
her
seem'd
delighted
.
I
saw
her
,
in
an
evil-hour
,
Approach
a
deep-mouth
trumpet-flower
,
Within
whose
fatal
tube
,
O
me
!
With
mortal
dagger
,
lurk'd
a
bee
.
Deceitful
weed
!
for
ever
may
Your
silthy
flower
avoid
the
day
,
Your
nauseous
odours
taint
the
morn
,
Yourself
the
dire
Thorny
Apple
of
Peru
,
call'd
in
Virginia
The
James-Town
Weed
.
Peruvian
Thorn
!
May
you
,
compell'd
,
pernicious
bees
!
Supply
your
murmuring
hives
from
these
;
By
day
restrain
your
busy
flight
,
Condemn'd
to
labour
in
the
night
.
Within
her
breast
,
secure
of
harm
,
The
feather'd
Venus
rais'd
alarm
,
Enrag'd
the
little
,
jealous
thing
,
And
in
her
neck
he
plung'd
his
sting
.
Say
,
hast
thou
seen
a
courser
start
—
An
arrow
fly
—
the
lightning
dart
?
Far
swifter
,
wrung
with
raging
pain
,
The
Beauty
cleft
the
airy
plain
;
Her
course
unsteady
,
high
and
low
,
Too
well
explain'd
her
inward
woe
;
Her
strength
decreasing
,
and
her
speed
,
Her
feeble
wings
refusing
aid
,
Her
tender
frame
with
fevers
burn'd
,
Her
little
brain
to
frenzy
turn'd
,
The
charm
of
Nature
,
and
the
pride
,
In
many
circles
,
sunk
and
died
.
Her
purest
nectar
erst
she
drew
From
hence
,
here
lie
her
beauties
too
;
Where
never
flower
the
wandering
eye
Hath
since
rejoic'd
.
(
All
bards
will
lie
)
.
"
The
ways
of
Pleasure
promise
fair
,
"
But
Mischief
oft
conceal'd
lies
there
.
"