The swallow, the swallow has burst on the sight,
He brings us gay seasons of vernal delight;
His back it is sable, his belly is white.
Can your pantry nought spare,
That his palate may 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?