To A Fly. Poem by Susan Evance

I HAVE preserved thee, helpless Fly,
From the fell Spider's cruel power;
I heard thy faint imploring cry,
And bore thee from the deathful bower.

Now thou art free- and may'st again
Pursue thy careless sportive way;
Wander with zephyrs o'er the plain,
And gambol in the sunny ray.

O leave the haunt of man- for there
Ruin and Death in secret wait;
Th' attractive sweet, "too tempting snare! "
Will quickly lure thee to thy fate.

Go, little trifler! take thy flight
Where heathy mountains wild arise,
Where sun-beams ever warm and bright,
Serenely gleam from cloudless skies.

Where lovely flow'rets lift their heads,
And to the gale soft fragrance
Where Nature every beauty spreads-
There sip each sweet- and gaily live.