Ah! thou lost, unwary thing,
Flutt'ring with a tortured wing—
Crying, with thy little feet
Scorch'd amid surrounding heat!
Poor, unhappy, suffering fly,
What a painful death to die!
Since, so rashly thou hast strayed
'Twixt the funnel and the shade,
In the fiery prison lost,
Now thy life must pay the cost
Of venturing too near the glare,
Dazzling to allure thee there!
Oh! it fills my heart with pain,
Thus to see thee strive in vain
For escape; for I, alas!
Am too small to lift the glass.
Mother says I must not take
Things my little hands might break.
Here she comes! but 't is too late!
Thou, poor thing, hast met thy fate.
Motion ceases—life has fled—
Dropping on the table, dead,
Now I see thee, thoughtless fly!
'T was a foolish death to die.
'Yes, my child, in careless play,
Thus his life is thrown away.
For a thing that pleased the eye
He rushed onward but to die!
Yet, remember, there was none
Warning him the blaze to shun.
'If thou think'st the untaught flies,
For their errors, so unwise,
Let this insect's fall be hence
From temptation thy defence!
On thy heart a picture stamp
Of the fly about the lamp!'