Leaving a dewy track; and see, the big drops,
Like falling pearls, glisten in the sunny mist.
The air is clear again, and the far woods
Shine out in their early green. Let’s onward, then,
For the first blossoms peep about the path;
The lambs are nibbling the short, dripping grass,
And the birds are on the bushes.
The month of April not unfrequently introduces us to the chimney or house-swallow, known by its long, forked tail and red breast. At first, here and there only one appears glancing quickly by us, as if scarcely able to endure the cold, which Warton beautifully describes —
The swallow for a moment seen,
Skims in haste the village green.