Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889
The Wasp
By Francis Hopkinson (17371791)W
An infant wasp neglected lay;
Till, having dozed the destined time,
He woke and struggled into day.
And big with self-approved worth:
“Mankind,” he said, and stretched his wing,
“Should tremble when I sally forth.
And satire all her purses drain;
A critic born, the world shall know
I carry not a sting in vain.”
Elate he rose in airy flight;
Thence to the city changed his way,
And on a steeple chanced to light.
Presumes to rear its head so high?
This clumsy cornice—see how vile:
Can this delight a critic’s eye?”
The substance firm, but strove in vain;
Surprised he sees it stands its ground,
Nor starts through fear, nor writhes with pain.
But soon with aggravated power,
Against the walls his body threw,
And hoped to shake the lofty tower.
Nor heeds the wasp’s unpitied fall:
The humbled critic rolls in dust,
So stunned, so bruised, he scarce can crawl.