Do not remain here long. Thy season will not last. The destructive wind of the desert will dry up, and destroy, and sweep away thy meagre nourishment. Not a gnat will be left to sustain thy wing and thy voice. Bethink thyself of the nest which thou hast left in our woods, remember thy European loves. The sky was gloomy, but there thou madest for thyself a sky of thine own. Love was around thee; every soul thrilled at thy voice; the purest throbbed for thee. There is the real sun, there the fairest Orient. True light is where one loves.
MIGRATIONS—THE SWALLOW.
