THE WHITE MOTH. Beware, pretty Moth, so unsullied and white, Beware of the lamp's dazzling rays! It is not a drop of the sun! but a light That shines to allure little rovers by night; Away! there is death in the blaze. O why didst thou come from thy covert of green, The vine, round my window so bright; And pop in to know what was here to be seen, Forsaking thy shield, and escaping thy screen, And hazarding life by the flight? The down on thy limbs and thy bosom so pure That flame would most fatally singe: And nothing thy beautiful wings can insure From harm and from pain beyond mending or cure, If caught by their delicate fringe. Return, giddy wanderer, safe to the vine; And breathe in the fresh evening air; Go, look at the stars, as they twinkle and shine; And cling to a leaf, or the tendrils that twine, My soft little eavesdropper, there! And then, by a song I will sing, thou shalt know, Why thus I have lifted my arm To scare thee away from thy luminous foe. That threw out its beams, as a snare, and a show To tempt the unwary to harm. For, I through the day, have been guarded by One, Who, greater and wiser than I, Has pitied my frailty; and forced me to shun Illusive temptations, where I might have run The peril of sporting to die. 'T was kindness from Him, to whose care I commend Myself through the darkness of night, That taught me so quick to come in, as a friend, Between thee and evil, thy life to defend; Pretty Moth, so unsullied and white. EDWARD AND CHARLES. The brothers went out with their father to ride, Where they looked for the flowers, that, along the way-side, So lately were blooming and fair; But their delicate heads by the frost had been nipped; Their stalks by the blast were all twisted and stripped; And nothing but ruin was there. "Oh! how the rude autumn has spoiled the green hills!" Exclaimed little Charles, "and has choked the bright rills With leaves that are faded and dead! The few on the trees are fast losing their hold, And leaving the branches so naked and cold, That the beautiful birds have all fled." "I know," replied Edward, "the country has lost A great many charms by the touch of the frost, Which used to appear to the eye; But then, it has opened the chestnut-burr too, The walnut released from the case where it grew; And now is our _Thanksgiving_ nigh!