THE SWALLOW.
When weary, weary winter
Hath melted into air,
And April leaf and blossom
Hath clothed the branches bare,
Came round our English dwelling
A voice of summer cheer:
'Twas thine, returning swallow,
The welcome and the dear.
Far on the billowy ocean
A thousand leagues are we,
Yet here, sad hovering o'er our bark,
What is it that we see?
Dear old familiar swallow,
What gladness dost thou bring:
Here rest upon our flowing sail
Thy weary, wandering wing.
Mrs. Howitt.
RETURNING BIRDS.
Birds, joyous birds of the wandering wing
Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring?
"We come from the shores of the green old Nile,
From the land where the roses of Sharon smile,
From the palms that wave through the Indian sky,
From the myrrh trees of glowing Araby."
Mrs. Hemans.