At last they heard the foolish Cuckow sing,
Whose note proclaimed the holiday of spring.
No longer doubting, all prepare to fly,
And repossess their patrimonial sky.
}
The priest before them did his wings display; }
And that good omens might attend their way, }
As luck would have it, 'twas St Martin's day. }
Who but the Swallow now triumphs alone?
The canopy of heaven is all her own;