SONG OF THE SWALLOW.

FROM THE GREEK.

Sung by the Children, passing from Door to Door, at the Return of the Swallow.

The swallow is come!

He brings us the season of vernal delight,

With his back all of sable, and belly of white.

Have you nothing to spare,

That his palate would please—

A fig, or a pear,

Or a slice of rich cheese?

Mark, he bars all delay:

At a word, my friend, say,

Is it yes, is it nay?

Do we go? do we stay?

One gift, and we’re gone:

Refuse, and anon,

On your gate and your door

All our fury we pour;

Or our strength shall be tried

On your sweet little bride;

From her seat we will tear her,

From her home we will bear her;

She is light, and will ask

But small hands for the task.

Let your bounty then lift

A small aid to our mirth,

And whate’er the gift,

Let its size speak its worth.

The swallow, the swallow,

Upon you doth wait;

An alms-man and suppliant,

He stands at your gate;

Let him in then, I say,

For no gray-beards are we,

To be foiled in our glee;

But boys who will have our own way.

Translation of Mitchell.