Anna Laetitia Barbauld - The Caterpillar lyrics

No, helpless thing, I cannot harm thee now; Depart in peace, thy little life is safe, For I have scanned thy form with curious eye, Noted the silver line that streaks thy back, The azure and the orange that divide Thy velvet sides; thee, houseless wanderer, My garment has enfolded, and my arm Felt the light pressure of thy hairy feet; Thou hast curled round my finger; from its tip, Precipitous descent! with stretched out neck, Bending thy head in airy vacancy, This way and that, inquiring, thou hast seemed To ask protection; now, I cannot k** thee. Yet I have sworn perdition to thy race, And recent from the slaughter am I come Of tribes and embryo nations: I have sought With sharpened eye and persecuting zeal, Where, folded in their silken webs they lay Thriving and happy; swept them from the tree And crushed whole families beneath my foot; Or, sudden, poured on their devoted heads The vials of destruction.-This I've done Nor felt the touch of pity: but when thou,- A single wretch, escaped the general doom, Making me feel and clearly recognise Thine individual existence, life, And fellowship of sense with all that breathes,- Present'st thyself before me, I relent, And cannot hurt thy weakness.-So the storm Of horrid war, o'erwhelming cities, fields, And peaceful villages, rolls dreadful on: The victor shouts triumphant; he enjoys The roar of cannon and the clang of arms, And urges, by no soft relentings stopped, The work of d**h and carnage. Yet should one, A single sufferer from the field escaped, Panting and pale, and bleeding at his feet, Lift his imploring eyes,- the hero weeps; He is grown human, and capricious Pity, Which would not stir for thousands, melts for one With sympathy spontaneous:- 'Tis not Virtue, Yet 'tis the weakness of a virtuous mind.