METAMORPHOSES. 



59 



that even when she appears in their works under the human 

 form, we find her decorated with the light and filmy wings of 

 that gay insect."^ 



The following beautiful little poem falls in so exactly with 

 the subject I have been discussing, that I cannot resist the 

 temptation I feel to copy it for you, especially as I am not 

 aware that it has appeared any where 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 Butterfly, on pinions bright, 



Launch'd in full splendour on the day. 



Unconscious of a mother's care, 



No infant wretchedness she knew j 

 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 colours 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 that spring can give, 



Partake what bounteous summer yields. 

 And live whilst yet 'tis thine to live. 



1 Nares's Essays, i. 101, 102. 



