METAMORPHOSES. 39 
for you, especially as I am not aware that it has appeared anywhere but in 
a newspaper : — 
THE BUTTERFLY’S BIRTH-DAY. 
BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE BUTTERFLY’S BALL.” 
The shades of night were scarcely fled ; 
‘The air was mild, the winds were still ; 
And slow the slanting sun-beams spread 
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 with responsive note 
From mountain side and shadowy dell. 
When bursting forth to life and light, 
The offspring of enraptured May, 
The Burrerry, on pinions bright, 
Launch’d in full splendour on the day. + 
Unconscious of a mother’s care, 
No infant wretchedness she knew; 
But as she telt the vernal air, 
At once to full perfection grew. 
Her slender form, ethereal light, 
Her velvet-textured wings infold ; 
With all the rainbow’s colours bright, 
And dropt with spots of burnish’d gold. 
Trembling with jov awhile she stood, 
And felt the sun’s enlivening ray ; 
Drank from the skies the vital flood, 
And wondered at her plumage gay! 
And balanced oft her broidered 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 that spring can give, 
Partake what bounteous summer yields, 
And live whilst yet *tis thine to live. 
Go, sip the rose’s fragrant dew, 
The lily’s honeyed cup explore, 
Trom 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! 
né 
