METAMORPHOSES. 75 



THE BUTTERFLY'S BIRTH-DAY. 



BT THE AUTHOR OF " THE EUTTFEFLY's BALL." 



The shades of night were scarcely fled ; 



The air was mild, the winds were still ; 

 And slow the slanting sun-beams spread j 



O'er wood and lawn, o'er heath and hill : 



From fleecy clouds of pearly hue 



Had dropt a short but balmy shower, 

 That hung like gems of morning dew 



On every tree and every flower : 



And from the blackbird's mellow throat 



Was pour'd so loud and long a swell, 

 As echoed witli responsive note 



From mountain side and shadowy dell. 



When bursting forth to life and light, 



The offspring of enraptured May, 

 The Butterfly, on pinions bright, 



Launch'd in full splendor on the day. 



Unconscious of a mother's care. 



No infant wretchedness she knew ; 

 But as she felt the vernal air. 



At once to full perfection grew. * 



Her slender form, ethereal light, 



Her velvet-textured wings infold ; 

 With all the rainbow's colors bright, 



And dropt with spots of burnish'd gold. 



Trembling with joy awhile she stood. 



And felt the sun's enlivening ray ; 

 Drank from the skies the vital flood. 



And wonder'd at her plumage gay ! 



And balanced oft her broider'd wings. 



Through fields of air prepared to sail : 

 Then on her vent'rous journey springs. 



And floats along the rising gale. 



Go, child of pleasure, range the fields, 



Taste all the joys tjiat spring can give, 

 Partake what bounteous summer yields. 



And live whilst yet 't is thine to live. 



Go sip the rose's fragrant dew. 



The lily's honeyed cup explore. 

 From flower to flower the search renew 



And rifle all the woodbine's store : 



And let me trace thy vagrant flight, ^ 



Thy moments too of short repose. 

 And mark thee then with fresh delight 



Thy golden pinions ope and close. 



But hark! whilst thus I musing stand. 



Pours on the gale an airy note, 

 And breathing from a viewless band, 



Soft silvery tones around me float ! 



— They cease — but still a voice I hear, 



A whisper'd voice of hope and joy, 

 " Thy hour of rest approaches near, 



" Prepare thee, mortal ! — thou must die ! 



"Yet start not ! — on thy closing eyes 



"Another day shall still unfold, 

 "A sun of milder radiance rise, 



" A happier age of joys untold. 



