nature and immortalized capacities, always the same self in each transmutation; never dying or dissolving with its material investment; but surviving to bloom, in everlasting youth, amid the most exquisite felicity. The spiritualized Butterfly with angel wings perhaps, and an unperishable vitality."

Sharon Turner's Sacred History of the World.
Vol. I. Letter 17. p. 457.

BUTTERFLY'S BIRTH DAY.

The shades of night were scarcely fled;
The air was mild, the winds were still;
And slow the slanting sunbeams 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 ;
But as she felt the vernal air,
At once to full perfection grew.

Her slender form, ethereal light,
Her velvet-textured wings enfold :
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 Thro' 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 honey'd 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,

L