Poems.
43
"Nothing is made in vain," they say;
Thy mission, who can tell?
I pray thee cease that buzzing lay,
And seek some distant dell.
Thy mission, who can tell?
I pray thee cease that buzzing lay,
And seek some distant dell.
'T is quite enough thy notes to hear
While day proclaims its reign;
But, ah! when evening shades appear,
'T is misery, 'tis pain.
While day proclaims its reign;
But, ah! when evening shades appear,
'T is misery, 'tis pain.
Retired to rest, the light blown out,
When silence, lips is sealing,
While all is calm within, without,
And sleep 15 gently stealing;—
When silence, lips is sealing,
While all is calm within, without,
And sleep 15 gently stealing;—
Thou comest softly to our side,
Abuz—buz—buz—we hear,
But wo thy tiny form betide,
Should'st thou approach too near.
Abuz—buz—buz—we hear,
But wo thy tiny form betide,
Should'st thou approach too near.
We raise the hand to chase away,
We turn, and think thou 'rt gone;
Oh, sad mistake! thou still doth stay,
Singing thy vexing song.
We turn, and think thou 'rt gone;
Oh, sad mistake! thou still doth stay,
Singing thy vexing song.
Had I the power, I'd doom thy race
To Afric's burning clime,
To Afric's burning clime,
