Tiger Tiger Burning Bright

William Blake had a different tiger in mind when he penned his immortal words, but it could equally apply to this more delicate tiger currently sipping nectar from the lilacs.

The tiger swallowtail takes it's name from it's tiger-like stripes, and the long forked swallow-like tail, so no surprises there. They overwinter in Canada as pupae, emerging in May. The female will have only one brood. She lays her eggs on poplars, birch trees, apple trees: there is no shortage of host sites in Canada!

Avoiding becoming a bird's breakfast is always high on a butterfly's list of things to do. The caterpillars, bless them, are large green creatures. They do their best to look like a small snake. And, to add to the illusion, they possess a nifty little device, called an Osmeterium. This is located just at the back of the head, and when threatened it comes into action, pushing out a ‘Y’ shaped organ that resembles a snake’s tongue.

What it is really is a fleshy glandular sac, orange colored and when extended measures about quarter of an inch. It unloads some nasty smelling substances, and usually the predator backs off at that stage. The organ is unique to Swallow Tails.

From snake to tiger, the metamorphosis of this butterfly is truly amazing. Had Blake known about these astonishing Swallowtail butterflies, perhaps he would have dedicated his poem to them.

TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?