_and if no hangman happens to be present, frequently hang
themselves_.--_Memoirs of Lewis Holberg_.

* * * * *


STANZAS.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "FIELD FLOWERS," &C.

(_For the Mirror_.)


I smiled, for not a cloud was seen o'er the blue heaven's expanse,
As summer's myriad insect tribe led on the winged dance;
The gaudy butterfly was there ranging from flower to flower,
And by its side the wild bee humm'd amid the woodbine bower.

I sighed, for when I looked again the sky was overcast,
The summer insect's winged dance was o'er, yet on I past,
The gaudy butterfly was gone, the bee away had fled,
While on each fairest, brightest flower the wasteful locust fed.

Yet e'en this simple scene to youth a moral shall convey,
Since thus full oft misfortune's clouds obscure life's summer ray;
To-day we smile, for beauty smiles in all her spring-tide bloom--
To-morrow sigh, for beauty's bower has now become her tomb!

H. B.