POEMS, 507 





 Kcu rioOepei fjiev ws Xvpa 



The swallow 



Lyre-like attunes the sultry summer hours : 

 When chilling winter comes, she torpid feels, 

 And fabricates her house amidst a tree, 

 Envelop'd warm within the hollow stem : 

 Moulting she there puts off her feathery garb ; 

 Yet still again renews her youthful coat, 

 As when the dead arise from out the tomb ; 

 For spring again brings round her resurrection : 

 She twitters much, and chats the whole day long ; 

 If birds may be allow'd the powers of speech. 

 man, learn to revere the resurrection , 

 When twittering swallows rise as from their tomb. 



<I>iXoj' pe>' 0eyyos r/Xtou rode. 

 KceXor $e TTOITOV \evjjC iSelv evrjvepoi', 

 Tr) r' rjpirov ^aXXovarci, TrXovoiov &' vfiwp, 

 IToXXwj' r' CTraivov eart yuot Xe^ai icfiXwv' 

 AXX' ou^ev ovTit) \ajjnrpov, ovQ 

 ils rots curaHTi xut TTO^W ^ 

 Hai$tv I'coyi'wi' ev fopou ieiv <paos. 



Danae of Euripides. 



Sweet is the splendor of the morning sun ; 

 And sweet to see the gently heaving main ; 

 Sweet is the vernal face of hill or dale ; 

 And sweet th' effect of fertilizing stream : 

 But far more cheering, far more lovely scene. 

 Is to the childless man, wrung with desire, 

 The sight of new-born children in his house. 



END OF VOL. I. 



