The Isles of Loch Awe and Other Poems of my Youth ::

“You cannot turn a pebble in the stream
In May or June,” an angler said to me,
“Without disturbing things that afterwards
Bright summer flies will be.

“They lead a pleasant life beneath the stones;
Some active ones are clad in waterproof,
And others rest in little huts of sand
Beneath a solid roof,

“In separate chambers lined with silk throughout,
Cemented with a mortar of their own,
Wherein each baby insect is enshrined,
Secluded and alone.

“Thus pass the hours of growth. The sun of spring
Shines clearly through their native element;
And all those creatures, now mature and strong,
No longer feel content

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“To lie like worms and reptiles under stones,
Hiding in darkness all the summer days;
But one by one they leave their place of birth,
Till not a Pupa stays.

“The March-Brown climbs the stone he dwelt beneath,
And dries himself, and basks in summer heat,
And breathes a lighter element, and tries
To extricate his feet

“From those old boots, so useful in the stream—
Mere fetters now—and splits his water clothes;
Leaves the case empty, and exhausted sinks
Beside it to repose.

“He is not dead—his little crumpled wings
Dry and expand beneath the pleasant sun.
His body grows—he is a thing transformed—
His new life is begun!

“He skims across the pool where he was born,
On his new wings he soars unto the light;
Another world—to infancy unknown,
Spreads out before his sight.

“He never lacks an object of pursuit,
Indulging safely every healthy taste;
His life is short, but of his precious hours
No moment runs to waste.”

354

I heard the history of the Pupa case,
The simple life of its inhabitant,
And thought—how wise an insect to cast off
A form it does not want!

But men go pinched and bound in swaddling clothes,
Ignoring the enlargement of the mind;
'Twere wiser thus to let our wings expand,
And leave our shells behind.

Yet when, as truth advances, we renounce
Notions of science, narrow, out of date,
Some who regard the empty Pupa case
Sincerely mourn our fate,

And say, “Poor soul! he threw his armour off,
And now, no doubt, is dead in helplessness.”
Their dull compassion could not be bestowed
Where it was needed less.

For he, its object, on the brilliant wings
Of late-unfolded thought doth onward fly,
Disporting in an element more pure
Than that wherein they lie.

His faculties are bettered by the change;
A new world lies before—a wider field
For enterprise, whose wealth must ever be
From ignorance concealed.

355

Whilst others sleep in shallow pools of thought,
In ancient channels, mourning him as dead,
And holding inquests on the empty shell
That he so proudly shed,

He lives in clearer light, with broader views—
Swifter progression—freedom more complete.
It was his very nature to cast off
Those fetters from his feet!

University of Virginia Library

THE EMPTY PUPA CASE.