Non v' accorgete voi, che noi siam' vermi
Nati a formar l' angelica farfalla[102]?
The Egyptian fable, as it is supposed to be, of Cupid and Psyche, seems built upon this foundation. "Psyche," says an ingenious and learned writer, "means in Greek the human soul; and it means also a butterfly[103], of which apparently strange double sense the undoubted reason is, that a butterfly was a very ancient symbol of the soul—from the prevalence of this symbol, and the consequent coincidence of the names, it happened that the Greek sculptors frequently represented Psyche as subject to Cupid in the shape of a butterfly; and 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[104]."
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;
But as she felt the vernal air,
At once to full perfection grew.