Bright stranger, welcome to my field,
Here feed in safety, here thy radiance yield;
To me, oh nightly be thy splendor given:
Oh, could a wish of mine the skies command,
How would I gem thy leaf with liberal hand,
With every sweetest dew of heaven!
Say, dost thou kindly light the fairy train,
Amidst their gambols on the stilly plain,
Hanging thy lamp upon the moisten'd blade?
What lamp so fit, so pure as thine,
Amidst the gentle elfin band to shine,
And chase the horrors of the midnight shade?
Oh! may no feather'd foe disturb thy bower,
And with barbarian beak thy life devour:
Oh! may no ruthless torrent of the sky,
O'erwhelming, force thee from thy dewy seat;
Nor tempests tear thee from thy green retreat,
And bid thee midst the humming myriads die!
Queen of the insect-world, what leaves delight,
Of such these willing hands a bower shall form,
To guard thee from the rushing rains of night,
And hide thee from the wild wing of the storm.
Sweet child of stillness, midst the awful calm
Of pausing Nature, thou art pleased to dwell;
In happy silence to enjoy thy balm,
And shed, through life, a lustre round thy cell.
How different man, the imp of noise and strife,
Who courts the storm that tears and darkens life;
Bless'd when the passions wild the soul invade!
How nobler far to bid those whirlwinds cease;
To taste, like thee, the luxury of peace,
And shine in solitude and shade!