The cheerer thou of our indoor sadness,
He is the friend of our summer gladness;
What hinders, then, that ye should be
Playmates in the sunny weather,
And fly about in the air together!
His beautiful bosom is drest
In crimson as bright as thine own;
If thou would'st be happy in thy vest,
O pious bird! whom man loves best,
Love him, or leave him alone!
WELCOME, Welcome, feather'd stranger,
Now the sun bids nature smile;
Safe arrived, and free from danger,
Welcome to our blooming isle!
Still twitter on my lonely roof,
And hail me at the dawn of day,
Each morn the recollected proof
Of time that ever fleets away.
Fond of sunshine, fond of shade,
Fond of skies serene and clear,
Ev'n transient storms thy joy invade
In fairest seasons of the year:
What makes thee seek a milder clime,
What bids thee shun the wintry gale,
How know'st thou thy departing time?
Hail! wondrous bird! hail, Swallow, hail!
Sure something more to thee is given,
Than myriads of the feather'd race,
Some gift divine, some spark from heaven,
That guides thy flight from place to place:
Still freely come, still freely go,
And blessings crown thy vigorous wing,
May thy rude flight meet no rude foe,
Delightful messenger of Spring.
O RUSTIC herald of the spring,
At length, in yonder woody vale,
Fast by the brook I hear thee sing;
And, studious of thy homely tale,
Amid the vespers of the grove,
Amid the chanting choir of love,
Thy sage responses hail.
The time has been when I have frown'd To hear thy voice the woods invade ; And while thy solemn accent drown'd Some sweeter poet of the shade: Thus, thought I, thus the sons of care Some constant youth or generous fair With dull advice upbraid.
I said, “ While Philomela's song
Proclaims the passion of the grove,
It ill beseems the Cuckoo's tongue
Her charming language to reprove."
Alas! how much a lover's ear
Hates all the sober truth to hear,
The sober truth of love!
When hearts are in each other blest,
When nought but lofty faith can rule
The nymph's and swain's consenting breast,
How cuckoo-like in Cupid's school,
With store of grave, prudential saws
On fortune's power and custom's laws,
Appears each friendly fool!
Yet think betimes, ye gentle train,
Whom love, and hope, and fancy sway,
Who every harsher care disdain,
Who by the morning judge the day;
Think that, in April's fairest hours,
To warbling shades and painted flowers,
The Cuckoo joins his lay.
LORDS and ladies, for your ear
We have a petitioner:
Name and lineage would you know?
'Tis Apollo's child, the Crow,
Waiting till your hands dispense
Gift of barley, bread, and pence.
Be it but a lump of salt,
His is not the mouth to halt.
Nought that's proffer'd he denies :
Long experience makes him wise.
Who to-day gives salt, he knows,
Next day fig or honey throws.
* The crows," says Mr. Mitchell, the translator of Aristophanes, 66 appear to have been in great disfavour with the Athenians. They had the fee-simple of all that society wished to eject from itself; and thus stood to the Greeks somewhat in the relation of that malignant person, who, according to Rabelais, breakfasts on the souls of serjeants-at-arms fricasseed. But this song will show that this dislike to the crow did not prevail universally among the Greeks, but that the same use was made, in some parts, of the crow as was made of the swallow."
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