THE fire-fly is heedlessly wandering about,
Through field and through forest is winging his route,
As free as the butterfly sporting in air,
From flower to flower, it flits here and there:
Now glowing with beautiful phosphoric light,
Then paling its lustre and waning in night:
It bears no effulgence in rivalry near,
But shrouds ev'ry gleam as the dawn doth appear.
It sparkles alone in the soft summer's eve,
Itself, though unseen, by the track it doth leave,
The youth of the village at night-fall pursue
O'er hill and o'er dale, as it comes into view;
Now shining before them, now lost to their eyes,
The sparkle they catch at, just twinkles and dies;
And the mead is one moment all spangled with fire,
And the next, every sparklet is sure to expire.
On the leaf of the orange awhile it disports,
When the blossom is there, to its cup it resorts,

And still the more brightly and dazzling it shines,
It baffles its tiny pursuers' designs.
But see the sweet maiden, the innocent child,
The pride of the village--as fair as the wild
And beautiful flowers she twines in her hair--
How light is her step, and how joyous her air!
And oft as one looks on such brightness and bloom,
On such beauty as her's, one might envy the doom
Of a captive 'Cucuya,' that's destined like this,
To be touched by her hand, and revived by her kiss;
Imprisoned itself, by a mistress so kind,
It hardly can seem, to be closely confined,
And a prisoner thus tenderly treated in fine,
By a keeper so gentle, might cease to repine.
In the cage which her delicate hands have prepared,
The captive 'Cucuya' is shining unscared,
Suspended before her, with others as bright,
In beauty's own bondage revealing their light.
But this amongst all is her favourite one,
And she bears it at dusk to her alcove alone,
'Tis fed by her hand on the cane that's most choice,
And in secret it gleams, at the sound of her voice.

Thus cherished, the honey of Hybla would now
Scarce tempt the 'Cucuya' her care to forego;
And daily it seems to grow brighter and gain
Increasing effulgence, forgetting its pain.
Oh! beautiful maiden, may heaven accord,
Thy care of the captive, its fitting reward;
And never may fortune the fetters remove,
Of a heart that is thine in the bondage of love.