Poem by Thomas Aird

The Swallow

The little comer's coming, the comer o'er the sea,
The comer of the summer, all the sunny days to be.
How pleasant through the pleasant sleep thy early twitter heard,
O Swallow by the lattice! Glad days be thy reward!
Thine be sweet morning with the bee that's out for honeydew;
And glowing be the noontide for the grasshopper and you;
And mellow shine, o'er day's decline, the sun to light thee home!
What can molest thy airy nest? sleep till the morrow come.
The river blue that lapses through the valley hears thee sing,
And murmurs much beneath the touch of thy light-dipping wing.
The thunder-cloud, over us bowed, in deeper gloom is seen,
When quick relieved it glances to thy bosom's silvery sheen.
The silent Power that brings thee back with leading-strings of love
To haunts where first the summer sun fell on thee from above,
Shall bind thee more to come aye to the music of our leaves,
For here thy young, where thou hast sprung, shall glad thee in our eaves. 

1. Song the Seventh
2. Fitte the First
3. My Mother's Grave
4. To the Memory of a City Pastor
5. Song the Fourth

Abraham Cowley The Swallow ("Foolish prater, what dost thou")

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