Bees, bluebottles, and alert dragon-flies
That fled under reeds, escaping the eyes
Of swallows pursuing. One sat on the hand
Of Marie by chance—a waif from a band.
Its aspect was strange, and wholly unknown,
Two goggle eyes, and of jet a black zone;
So forward I ran to crush it,—but lo!
Already 'twas seized, and held up for show
By my young peasant girl. Dazzling the wings,
Transparent, with slight rainbow colourings,—
On seeing the poor thing struggle with fear,
'My God! how it trembles; why kill it, the dear?'
She said; while her mouth, round, rosy, and pure,
Blew it in air, and then smiled demure,
While it sudden displayed its pinions of fire,
And fled, praising God—rising higher and higher.
Many moons have passed since that happy time,
Alas! many years! In life's sunny prime
In my fifteenth summer I had entered then—
Ah, how days dissipate, and vanish men!
But though days and years may pass like the breeze,
They never can tarnish such memories.
Other days shall come, and haply shall bring
Other feelings and loves upon their wing;
But the love of my youth, serene and pure,
In the shade of my heart shall ever endure,
O first love, O first love, bloom, ever bloom,
And shed through my life thy magic perfume!
O house of Moustoir! How often at night,
And in crowds, amid noise, in day's broad light,
